You can’t swing a dead cat in here without hitting the beer bottles lining each wall. The sound of chairs scraping the floor upstairs and the radio plays exclusively for the fern, but the filtered sunlight is tapping it’s toes to the beat of a generation gone mad. 

Obscure samples of scratchy LPs, a child sitting on an old man’s knees, her hair like honeyed-sunlight, smiles and takes flight. Doesn’t likes the scrapes, kinda likes the grapes, but really loves the Band-Aids.  The jury’s out on lemonade. 

African pictures of willows trees, weeping, creeping peeping, quote the raven - Whaaaaaaaaa!  Shmock, shmock! Ah-woo! Ah-woo! Vines criss-cross the mangrove like so many phone wires in a wireless civilization, lost in the realization. 

Sepia after some medication, an altered sense of the crystalized history - so fragile it breaks off when you touch the pedals of the footstep flower. The Halcion hours of the rubbery days of fist shaking ways. Let me on the on-ramp- you L.A. weiner! Get a life yourself, you BMW screamer! My electrical car is quiet as the grave. My gravel roads have yet to be paved. My road Atlas has yet to be saved.  

Oh, switch tense. Oh, tense switch. Oh, Lark’s Tongue at Ipswitch.  Oh, breakfast and bullfinch. Pleading will do you no good. Well, maybe. Foam at the mouth, like you have way too much time on your hands. Oh, switch tense. Oh, tense switch. Oh, Lark’s Tongue at Ipswitch. 

Early music drifts. Not out of a window, not out of the air. But out of the tomb of yore - gaping - the middle-age aping. Promotional material and dogs need not apply. Don’t look up at the sky, something might be gaining on you. 

Wain smile upon her lips, a graphic simile upon her hips. Feet wide, arms akimbo. Hair blue-black - like gun-metal. The creases on her forehead - one for every year - like the rings of a mighty oak. You are what you smoke. Your money or your wife, your Monet or your life. Abstraction is the only thing really in focus. Like logic - warm and fuzzy. Teeth missing and kinda scuzzy. Arms akimbo, feet wide. Hair like deep space. Eyes like the human race.