the cocktail hour finally arrives: whether ending a day at the office or opening the orifice at 6am [legal again to pour in californica]: the time is always right we need a little glamour and glamour arrives: plenty of chipped ice a green jurassic palm tree planted. a yellow spastic monkey swinging a pink classic flamingo impaled upon the exuberant red of cherries dash of bitters. vermouth sweet. enough rye whiskey to kill this longing: I take my drinks still and stuffed with plastic. like my lovers my billfold full of rubbers. OPENs my mouth: its tiny neon lounge
Hustlers with Bad Timing
That pip in the pear is a blackbird. Tussle on the grass a grackle. It is officially spring. Watch:
Some kids pulling up BURIED WATER PIPE flags. And next to them the little violets. Rain violets. The flags are blue.
The sycamores are just greening. "The world in fact is just," Chaos said. And we believed him, who called himself
the most difficult thing he could think of. He wanted to get into the club. The club he was clubbed outside of.
Later, it'll matter that there's no marker. Before he was Chaos, Robin he was, because he stole. Was blank before.
A bronze angel thoughtfully placed for all who grieve a child. Of course a child. What else might you have lost.