manuscriptx
New Member
She arose from a day spa and said to me, wide awake.
I didn't know what she was talking about until I had died.
She asked if I could look something up for her, an address.
I agreed and told her we would meet back here once again.
Not now, not ever, but in the near future, call it, perennial guessing.
Now I realize this may seem a bit strange, it certainly does to me, but consider the facts. The strange and unusual the sounds of encouragement, craziness and fear, the sounds of distortion, the wet weird and wild wells over and can never shut up to this day. The scrutiny, wonder and excitement, a day to remember one's thoughts, she awakened past midnight to remind me that out there, just beyond the door, lying in waiting was her head shaped up in a bun.
An angry miser, a rabble rouser, a raider hater, a dumbwaiter, a conscious pacifier, a torrid love affair, a gentle nudge, an ignorant twit, a tiny flick of the wrist says I love you.
Once again there is no meaning, no spark. No life. Once again there is no love and no man greater than this, there is no obvious sign of emotion, no wondrous and ever-lasting nightmare where the light shines in the dark, the net catches fish, the ground shakes, tiny wet rain drops fly off or where the tumbling down thunder like rolling rocks over a mountain peak of an encumbering storm.
A fat woman's word processor needs no explanation.
Hmm, we'll see.
I didn't know what she was talking about until I had died.
She asked if I could look something up for her, an address.
I agreed and told her we would meet back here once again.
Not now, not ever, but in the near future, call it, perennial guessing.
Now I realize this may seem a bit strange, it certainly does to me, but consider the facts. The strange and unusual the sounds of encouragement, craziness and fear, the sounds of distortion, the wet weird and wild wells over and can never shut up to this day. The scrutiny, wonder and excitement, a day to remember one's thoughts, she awakened past midnight to remind me that out there, just beyond the door, lying in waiting was her head shaped up in a bun.
An angry miser, a rabble rouser, a raider hater, a dumbwaiter, a conscious pacifier, a torrid love affair, a gentle nudge, an ignorant twit, a tiny flick of the wrist says I love you.
Once again there is no meaning, no spark. No life. Once again there is no love and no man greater than this, there is no obvious sign of emotion, no wondrous and ever-lasting nightmare where the light shines in the dark, the net catches fish, the ground shakes, tiny wet rain drops fly off or where the tumbling down thunder like rolling rocks over a mountain peak of an encumbering storm.
A fat woman's word processor needs no explanation.
Hmm, we'll see.