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The elephant man sits loudly in the corner playing yellow saxophone blues through tiny white knives and a bluetooth . A megaphone giant slouches over garden fences , peering deep into windows and eyes . A plane overhead falls apart in noise , exposing a finite sort of ingenuity .
Acid trail wandering south Dakota , Beijing high rise architecture on incline . No wonder there ’ s a Morse code shortcut ! You ’ d be crazy to fly there . And so as I sit , on round cushion escape pod , facing flower stain cushion palace , the rain - through grid pattern shadow curtain - flows freely . Blue foot prints leave plastic trace , Cadillac smoke trail stain violet in humid air . Static prose is simply air to me , what is point in breathing print ?
And thus i = I
In Semantics [ enter stage left a one-armed man ] slowly , the man , melting in shadow by the buzzing cooler , turns and gravitates towards the brown paisley couch situated direct-center in the vast blue room . He unsheathes a flask from under his belt and drags on a fake cigar .
This man sits on a brown paisley couch .
“ Thank you Barbara Tarbox , you may have saved my life .”