it was a crappy car with a french name, more than second best but less than brand new. i drove it halfway across the nation with no speedometer. i forgot what happened when i got there, but i was being judged. writing in closets with heat pouring off an old fashioned radiator, i examined my motives and concluded it was modern dance.
today is question day. one to the left and three on the aisle. polyester industrial fabric is filling the room. suffocating the women and children. piles of jewelry and gold teeth,watches, glasses, thrown in a piles. piles of piles.. ghosts abound. i go down that aisle again, but this time someone tripped me. i couldn’t catch myself and we all know that led to a broken face. they reassure you til you know for sure that it’s dangerous.
i found paradise on an airplane. the mile low club.i saw the tear in her stocking and wondered why she was still wearing them. we flew right over macy’s. the last time i was there i stocked up on stockings. they were so tight, that i couldn’t even swallow the mouthful of beer. i spat it out and i realized it was in her hair before she did. she was wearing it down,right down her back. it made think of black butterflies, fluttering in the stale air.