Tuesday, December 28, 2010

The Van Line Convention

let’s face it the mouth is the apricots of Marbella and the sky well the sky shrinks to an edible ball on this point being perhaps the Guatemalan in the next booth señor pack-mule gargles oil in prison these are the rubs Professoressa Testarossa the Yorktown Porker we would not want to at this time so kindly Brian told him a prissy story one of his best at the ninth we were just not swinging like the ladies in the French garden a shrubbery fleur de lys Bernard says romantic poetry is just the adjectives black for compensation or misty for the ceiling fan looking down oh please c’mon he’s just brown-nosing it with god it was a mistake we were invited to something must have gone wrong you mean the president’s club? pissed I mean it makes me cry every time I see my children on the big island with the little one on the dolphin’s tail we invited Sophia to unveil it in the driveway when the pool wasn’t finished but invented the colour schemes for electronics a doughnut hole bigger than a doughnut endeared to underwriters kissing on the rooftop scampi beneath a layer of rucola glazed strip steaks coruscated with a pod of fingerlings and for real we’re only human let’s not confuse love with today and all afternoon at the beach we grew closer I know our small talk now as evening spreads it cannot be no never again

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