A toad-green's coughing (feminine) and I normally wouldn't give a damn but my stomach kept me up most of the night, shaking, fists clenched, and the cold early-morning yellows have me really on edge. The Continental girls are rolling their carry-ons ahead of me and they are so confident and healthy and I find out my flight's to Love Field and so I'm going to have to take a shuttle over to DFW and I suppose this is what happens when you write so buoyantly about Love Birds splashing and preening in the great glorious sun inside you.
There should be some law against airport and hotel gouging. They piss in your mouth-- and I just take it, smiling.
The captain's expecting some turbulence, we are told. Apollinaire was desperate, dying. There are so many things I still want to say, he moaned.
When I was 12, I swam the backstroke for the "B" team at King David Victory Park. This God inside me's cold and green.
The plane in the Hudson looked like an Orca half submerged (like the ones you see surfing in to kill baby seals.) The people on its wings like birds. I'm thinking of a Cockatoo without any feathers. She gets very cold and she cuddles into her caretaker.
I'm studying the old lady next to me. (she's barefoot). The fat man with a "majestic" jacket. And the air hostess with 3 poor chins. I wonder what they'd look like drowned?
My leg's sore, blah, blah. My head's sore, blah, blah. But I am ready, as always, to turn into God. To die for all of us. Yeah, right.
No comments:
Post a Comment