my name is hairy dawbs~
since this morning.
what is your fantasy?
cat in a glass box.
where are you going?
end of the line~
what does your booty taste like?
walnuts.walnuts.walnuts.walnuts.
walnuts.walnuts.walnuts.walnuts.
walnuts.walnuts.walnuts.walnuts.
walnuts.walnuts.walnuts.walnuts.
walnuts.walnuts.walnuts.walnuts.
you never saw the end of the poem?
hmm.
a bald man gets back on a bus.
the bus is a beach
and it will never dance again
with anybody,
I promise.
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A brilliant meditation on loyalty and chewability.
ReplyDeleteLanny, bus in a glass box, a bald man gets back on a cat, cat will never again dance with anybody, is my fantasy.
Astigmatism prevents me from seeing much these days, but the compensatory prize is feeling deeply, deeply.
I feel this poem deeply, deeply.
I am going... to lie down.
Affectionate salutations, T
(PS Long time no see, but then long time forever no see either or anyway, blindness is like walnuts... only tasteless...)