scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

22.5.04

the sky is a blue that crayola would pawn its corporate soul for, and the immmigrants across the street are playing the kind of mereingue that infects. someday i will be in morocco or venice, and a gentleman with dark skin and black eyes, predicted the day before by a wrinkled and jealous woman in glass and silk will, at first sight, set a stone of great magnitude on my finger and never think of asking anything in return. never again will i have to hear the grunts and emmissions of these countrified bastards i live with.

or. i, successful, retire early to a sailboat without garth brooks or ford or cheap standup comedy. i will eat mango and pineapple and never use dishes, washing my hands in the gulf of mexico and renowned for my sushi.

or. i will eat a baguette and cheese in my parisian studio, and drink wine. my cigarette and i will read the newspaper.

or. crowds of tourists will surround my mansion.

Labels: writing

scrawled @ 16:32