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Monday, April 23, 2012

a smart cow




   This is an example of an intelligent brown cow, the very one now standing in the field of hay with a long tail of woe. A cow that is gingerly stepping forward through the field of clover swishing its tail in anticipation of conveying its tail of the black cloud of flies plying their trade of distraction by covering the cows hide in swarms of bites and irritations. The bright brown cow with the sad large brown liquid eyes stopped at the stone fence and faced the veterinarian. The vet was a kind brown eyed woman with a weathered sun browned face and hands. The sad brown cow with the sad tail turned its head toward the vet as a hand reached out to scratch the brown forehead of the cow a cow who wanted to tell its tail of woe. The cow looked the kind vet in the eyes and vigorously swished its brown tail across its flanks stirring up a black cloud of flies, thus instantly communicating the tail of woe to the friendly vet. The caring vet brought a contraption out of its black bag that the hopeful brown cow understood. So the cow began to slowly rotate all the way around while the vet pumped a spray all over the cows hide a spray that chased off the cloud of flies and eased the irritating bites. The happy brown cow now did the only thing it could do and smile at the kindly vet with its big brown eyes before wandering off crushing bits of grass sending a fresh smell into the air while searching for a nice patch of clover to chew on.
  The vet turned to the farmer with a twinkle in her eyes and said to the farmer, “that is an intelligent brown cow.”

Friday, March 30, 2012

Male Republicans, non fiction a study in contrast

non fiction a study in contrast.
Male Republican marries/breeds with female Republican = regressive genes for the next generation of little lockstep Republicans.

Monday, March 19, 2012

Half a life

Half a life
...again
night
Dark
 room
full moon
drawn blinds
walls
hidden spaces
dark places
feared spaces
room
cold bed
a comforter
sleeping
pretense
wall
dark
tunneling
scratching
scrabbling
drawn knees
comforter
pounding heart...
dissipation
peace
time...
...chirp, chirp, chirping
non reality
dreams
chirping
dim grayness
light
waking
dawn
new day
no fear
until...

Friday, March 16, 2012

Sunday, March 4, 2012

The Path

The Path
I live on a path, a path

at the end of the path is an unmarked plot beside a worn out over stuffed chair with little stuffing left for the weary soul. The springs within the chair are pushing through as though a spring growth was the way to a new future.

The scenic tour takes me from the slightly stuffed chair to adjusting the TV antenna, then past the stagnet book collection in the old china cabnet then around the corner past the door the that could be an escape to a receding world...


    the path
I live on a path, a path

at the end of the path is an unmarked plot beside a worn out over stuffed chair with little stuffing left for the weary soul. The springs within the chair are pushing through as though new spring growth was the way to a new future.

   The scenic tour takes me from the slightly stuffed chair to adjusting the TV antenna, then past the stagnant book collection in the old china cabinet then around the corner past the door that could be an escape to a receding world is my kitchen with a new/used stove that I care for, so that it will care for me as I prepare a new dish for Michelle and I. The stove likes hearing Michelle saying how good supper smells when she comes home from her job as a waitress. The path continues south past the hallway that leads to the restroom, laundry/storage room and Michelle's bedroom where three old chemistry class tables sit in an L shape loaded with my computers, old and used like me. I try to maintain their lives long enough so that I may bend my path into the world of... I have now words to explain the 'Internet' except it is a place where I leave pieces of myself along the path of the internet.

  
  
   The path is a well worn carpet with a weave of light speckled browns...

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The point grazed my scalp

A new first line.
 and a sharp lesson learned

   The point grazed my scalp just to the left of the apple, by the time I rid myself of the rope lashing me to the tree the gnome was nowhere to be seen.

    Gnomes are what they are, guardians of their treasures and I suppose I should ask next time I wander into a place of magic to taste a forbidden red treasure.

Saturday, February 18, 2012