it started with the flickering, slickering down the sidewalk when we were two
succulant slimballs, reminiscent of that suave, snail sheen glistening on the almost-
dry pavement during the dewy morn....the stewy gorn
i was born with a deform wedged deep inside my train of thought, once shell-shocked TV bought,
worn and then,
i forgot to breathe,
'Smeethe sleeze!'
summer comes, season's eternal disease. could you please shake the flowers from
the tree so the self absorbed he could block me from the sun's tease, everytime i sneeze.
and i
never seen a man so waterlogged that his eyes wouldn't defog- i had to
wipe his celluloid tears off with my grease stained sleeve,
'Mustard please.'
Stop that corrpulant centipede from gnawing holes through my skin, they'll think I've given
in. and i have-what a sin, toe jam tin, just a teeny weeny scribble from my itsy bitsy pen...
maybe then i'll let you in and guide you to a corrupted win.
but you
Can't
Count on
Blue to rescue you when your feet become silently stuck, red-handed in glue. I could
shake off all that malignant residue but then where would you be?
Where to go Slow Joe?
Every tide's so low when the sun looses its glow...but i smile, i
linger, with the image of a grin quivering upon my forefinger- another dead ringer who lost
his point of view optimistically
pushing up the daisies while the sky blossomed into a brilliant
Diebenkorn blue. Blue for you, for me, past years of tranquil hostility, marked by a timid apostrophe-
you must be avidly mad next to me!
But allow me this, (and I'm sure you won't deny),
those afternoons were fun, those afternoons,
you and i,


Eye to Eye,




Good Bye.