22
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.”