Part of a well balanced breakfast, eh?
Chorizo, frijoles, two tortillas, y café. Strong: I am.
Confident: She smiles, I smile too. The one with fiery blue hair and imposing green eyes smiles, and I smile right back.
You: Look people in the eye, walk with the head up, shoulders back. Work is done and I go to that place with all the words and worlds. Soul mate with glasses and checkered pants checks my Chekovs and invites me to smoke the diggity dank at her place.
"Later we can listen to REO and discuss politics and philosophy."
"Beer?"
"Of course."
Part of a well balanced breakfast, eh?
Four donettes (powdered sugar), Bud Light, and the cheap
commercial stuff I got from the guy who speaks Spanish only. Sing: Vamos a jugar por la playa. Slow. Now: Slower still. I: Am . . . I. Not I, just I. Much better. But not best . . .
A long walk. The silence of traffic sings to me and frightens me while awakening me to becoming me. And I simply neglect to smile. On the job: White paint on my hands and shirt, green in my hair. No watch, one shoe, broken
soul.
They stare at me. I revolt within myself. I read, dream, read, smoke, read, read, read, and regret. Then write.
". . . And do you know, Sonia, that low ceilings and tiny rooms cramp the soul and the mind?"
"Beer?"
"Of course."
Part of a well balanced breakfast, eh?
Frosted Flakes and an orange. Not bad. Could: Be worse. I: Am
still . . .Witness. You: Figure that out.
A new friend emerges and I break 40-watt fluorescent bulbs over my head.
Work: Smoke a spliff on the roof and grab a couple beers at lunch. Paint the rooms then love
the words. No. Love the words then paint
the rooms. No. Forget the rooms.
With that: New strings to play whistle new songs into the depths of my future, minus the reverb. Not written. Not yet anyway. Not heard either. Right now E minor goes well with A minor. Later E to A will be better.
"Salt River this weekend?"
"Beer?"
"Of course."
Chorizo, frijoles, two tortillas, y café. Strong: I am.
Confident: She smiles, I smile too. The one with fiery blue hair and imposing green eyes smiles, and I smile right back.
You: Look people in the eye, walk with the head up, shoulders back. Work is done and I go to that place with all the words and worlds. Soul mate with glasses and checkered pants checks my Chekovs and invites me to smoke the diggity dank at her place.
"Later we can listen to REO and discuss politics and philosophy."
"Beer?"
"Of course."
Part of a well balanced breakfast, eh?
Four donettes (powdered sugar), Bud Light, and the cheap
commercial stuff I got from the guy who speaks Spanish only. Sing: Vamos a jugar por la playa. Slow. Now: Slower still. I: Am . . . I. Not I, just I. Much better. But not best . . .
A long walk. The silence of traffic sings to me and frightens me while awakening me to becoming me. And I simply neglect to smile. On the job: White paint on my hands and shirt, green in my hair. No watch, one shoe, broken
soul.
They stare at me. I revolt within myself. I read, dream, read, smoke, read, read, read, and regret. Then write.
". . . And do you know, Sonia, that low ceilings and tiny rooms cramp the soul and the mind?"
"Beer?"
"Of course."
Part of a well balanced breakfast, eh?
Frosted Flakes and an orange. Not bad. Could: Be worse. I: Am
still . . .Witness. You: Figure that out.
A new friend emerges and I break 40-watt fluorescent bulbs over my head.
Work: Smoke a spliff on the roof and grab a couple beers at lunch. Paint the rooms then love
the words. No. Love the words then paint
the rooms. No. Forget the rooms.
With that: New strings to play whistle new songs into the depths of my future, minus the reverb. Not written. Not yet anyway. Not heard either. Right now E minor goes well with A minor. Later E to A will be better.
"Salt River this weekend?"
"Beer?"
"Of course."
