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| fig.098.62) DOOOM |
Greasy popcorn, a timeless quiz and that song from the movie where they dance, everything is with us tonight. In this calamitous gown you say, "rose as a thorn and yet, still off without much use for sleep tonight."
While I say, "Unsure of any principle, the only channel my old scratchy eyeballs have for relating stupid through their backward lens is this calendar. See here, right below the knee. It is here that I struggle."
Our ballroom is in the back but our sofa might need to to be moved first. Homeless and insecure, my packages go elsewhere. My phone is a lump of plastic where there's been a ring of gold and several senseless warts to measure. I'm old witch after all and my knowing is frightened. It's bathed in the light of many suns but it doesn't sleep well either.
"It's here where February lurks, just 28 days and counting."
There's some fastness with the absorption and heat but then there are whole meals without any teeth. Reckless stories and riddles from behind the bar, my glass is full of all the known hurts and grim dust we've had. This freaky yesterday is going like some old bread found on the street. There's part of someone's side of fries and there's a mask that's in a green puddle. All of it is soon to be as gone as this pregnant friend of mine or the archduke of somewhere south.
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