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History fans the candles we burn
to redress our mortal scuffles.
Artistry strives to repeat
what pillared society would rather forget.
And love,
love beats the clock by which we measure our unseen scars.
Later she asked me if I had what it took
to get down from a duck.
*
Her desire for him
was anonymous
at first,
and mutually oblivious.
He made her
laugh.
She was the soul of elegance;
his very own Avocado Fairy
with just a hint of Summer. Plus,
she could drink the Ocean of Teal.
In the Orient,
she told him,
love notes were written in letterbox.
He observed that all novels are, by definition,
books.
however all books are
not, by definition,
novel.
Banality is so...
cliché,
she sighed,
but superlatives are the worst.
He wondered once
if she had any Italian in her.
Only a few inches at a time,
she grinned.
She asked
if he was a perfectionist.
No, he said, not a perfectionist, exactly...
See! Was her pithy reply.
Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder,
He teased.
Better laid than never,
She teased right back.
*
She said she
longed for Eden
where love is
known to dwell;
where holy men and heathens
do good, as well as well.
He said there
was no heaven.
He said there was no hell.
He said there was no in-between
Where tortured angels fell.
Life is
like a palm tree
laughing at the breeze, because life is a palm tree laughing at the breeze. And life is like a seashell roaring at the sea, because life is a seashell roaring at the sea. And life is like a flounder, perfectly flat on one side, because the other side is even flatter. But death, he extolled, death is Lethe's lifeguard watching over we poor swimmers just waiting for someone to drown. The more she heard, the more his words struck out like a sore tongue. He said my dear, let's have a chat but he did all the talking. She handed him his ass and hat And sent the bugger walking. For she who heeds palaver is led without a voice; a cranial cadaver bled without a choice. * That night she dreamt of Mister Peabody and what he would do in a crisis. He would fire up his Way Back Machine and take his inner child for a tumble, that's what. * You are what you are and what you eat. So take a hint and take the mint. You may be missed yet not mistaken. You may be forced yet not forsaken. You may be awed yet not awakened. Open the oven. Put a cake in. May you kill yourself a chicken and eat another day. May you teach yourself The Chicken and dance your life away. May you two-step over eggshells, and rarely know disgrace. May your bombshell cerebellum embrace the human race. * From that day forward she would do the impossible and not be sad anymore. And then she wasn't. And not be mad anymore. And then she wasn't. And she'd be glad evermore. But then she wasn't. There was only the red; Red, red, red! Everything was red, everything! Even the bed! Bed, bed, bed! Red, red, red! Everything! Hurt! From the split-ends in her hair To the scuff marks on her boots, everything, even her hmm-hmm, hurt like a smashed pumpkin-head. Head, head, head! Bed, bed, bed! Red, red, red! Good! Night! Nurse! If it looks like a rose and it smells like a rose, call it a rose and pluck it. I sense nonsense. Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis? I don't know. No, no, no. No hot sausage, no hot sex, no, not a thing she said, not even a better bungee could bring back the top of that cliff. * Trying to light her Virginia Slim in the sleeting wind, she muttered, this is gonna be hard. Many many men have been mortified by the mortar-fire of the medico's mumbo-jumbo. Women too. She was really talking about the cancer. * No one can ever truly sever the silver chord. For our lifetimes weave a tapestry that threads our wayward home; where love beneath the kitchen sink is pregnant as a pome. Yes, it takes a child to raze a village idiot when our better angels have run amok; and a flying ace is a junkyard dog... but how do you get down from a duck? |
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