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I’m standing twelve feet in from where the tide usually stops and comes back from the sand. Twice now, a middle-aged omni-tailed seahorse gnashed in circles around my christened bucket meant for vomiting. There are sickles in each of my hands and my feet are more naked than a podium virgin in an audience of a hundred. The scenery in imagination closely resembles that of an ancient city with a blue log house at the edge of town. A philosopher with a green head bellows and hums, carries a paper sack full of sunflower seeds. The day is full of lapses. Fire in our atmosphere is less a carnival act than it is in the shufflings of focus. A tuna in the other paper sack. It is nighttime now and ¾ of all insects are nursing on filmy paralysis. Olive trees get potty trained by moonlight. It’s all Greek to me, said the Italian, painting his latest rendition of hell. |
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| PISSED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! | WHO CARES | 100929 |