…and if YOU are the crust

the lovely people.I could name namesand point them out.But what the heckit matters not,for in the endthey’ve gone to buymake-up mascarato fool the world.I’ve only gotmyself, at that.

’twas luck the bus was latethere was no better sightthe length of Hennepin.A man, looked like a gigolonow grabbed her arm,and fragments of loud wordscame flying over shrapnel-like,when sudenly he slapped her faceI did what needed to be done.His shirt was cheap it seemedit ripped as I used martial artsadmired by a crowd and….her,the nurse…

he opened it, stuck in his facewhen suddenly the geezerwho owned the house and had been wokenby frigid freezer drafthe was a gent, and quite soft spokenhe saw the roach and laughed.‘Oh, you again, you must be starvedwhy don’t you come for dinner,wait ’til you see the roast I carvedI’ve noticed you got thinner.’Well, they…

a stone henge monumentinside a jasmin garden,of beauty and some Eden ambience.We could then stretchout on a picnic rug,and talk,and whisper,allowing fliesand other peststo listen inand would we likethe handsome butterfliessun shining throughtranslucent wings,Blue sky would bea trusted guidereflecting what we thinkbut would not say,air would be heavy nowwith honeysuckle beesand touch would be reservedfor…

trepidation rumblesand shakesthe budding tree.Explorers always smilethe smile ofreassurance.As if to sayall will be well.The fruit soon drops,spills from its little hearta precious liquidsoon to greeta creature wild,with looks no less banalthan a thin-skinnedand puffed-up caterpillarfromthe horny wildernessof Kurdistan.

far sweeter than a French éclair,the first was in September.