James Graham
that static producing typewriter sitting in the hallway begs for
forgiveness
everytime i crawl through it's encroaching eyes. Subtle sounds
of
muffled
affection , lead me into the tunnel of misdirected roadblocks.
left to
see
myself in a paint filled mayonaisse jar , juggling a frightened
child
sandwich. wondering , wandering through a maze of backwards lawrence
welk
shows waltzing, only to my own 1,2,3...1,2,3 all along seeing you
seeing
me...manufacturing nakedness to sell my own empty pocket dungarees.
supermarket santa selling his own dreams of self acceptance. undermined
by
the smell of the rotten produce aisle mirages. watering hole pint
glass
spectacles... filling their prescription every 7 minutes. the safety
pin
secrets that once held together Tupelo, Mississippi , were bled
free
when
that hip-shaker fell apart. once dominated by diaper rash wonder
donuts
falling down through the clouded blankets of rice-a-roni.
trolley dodging tipplers secluding themselves from the rice pudding
kings of
the past... tumbling backwards down the west side highway. hooker
salad
with
vagrant vinegarette quite a nice lunch for an invalid. superflea
jumping
circus..super circus....no rings , dog show....only a manequin
dressed
in
drag on some sex line talking to himself bleeds through the hollow
empty
walls of this festering mind
You turkeys,
James Graham
james@fogelsville4.com