The syncopated stylings of Mr. Bruno and Zeus
wake me from a place I wasn’t quite ready to leave.
Choruses of cock a doodle doo vie for attention.
A virtuoso at stage right is especially talented, the notes
ring in my ears and bring me back
mattress and pillow
Cradling my spine
in all the right places,as
twisted limp white sheets caress
my aching stiff carcass.
for a brief respite
from a road well traveled.
A road with loose
pitted with pot holes
and gooey black tar.
Tar so gooey and sticky that you feel like
you are cross country skiing
in Utah and several tall blonde
men decked out in ski attire all named Lars
race by intent on getting to the finish line and you tell yourself why not and you join them and pretty soon you are gaining and they start to cheer you on and at that moment you are in heaven,and heaven is where it’s at, with angels singing and they are so glad you came,
and then you hear the most exquisite music you have ever heard
you are awakened to
to the heart tugging melody of two Great Danes
accompanying the local ambulance on the way to picking up
some poor bastard
who just got yanked
How do you say goodbye recall the fragile faith in the eyes of a starfish before tossed ashore by the careless surf? Or crack the ...