The sun ridiculous. George & Rick exchange songs. All seemly exhausted.
Ejaculation means outburst. Watching men & cops nothing is surprising.
Fozzy bear brings out music of death in a dainty red binder. The anger drips from his eyes. The sun is so bright. I think God put too high a watted bulb in. We smell a city pool. Beer does not seem impossible. Highly unlikely. Prison in a bikini. A wax job. I thought about classic cars. Can it be described/understood. The loneliness of 2000 bad men. Some not so bad. Some way confused. All need. The touch of saints make some remorseful. They sing and clap to get away from these regrets. The table behind us so blind, they squell sonar and still fly into the trees. Birds are reduced to a colony of seagulls. George attempts a dance. We watch in terror. Tremble, I wish. There are no trees with this yard – only voices, the racket of multitudes. Not for the squeamish.
Uneasiness subsides when you watch attempts at softball. Then in horror, a man’s pants attempts to moon us as he jumps and jacks. Seagull’s laughs are echoes in our vast bio
dome. None are out, but a couple. Dump duck. To wake @ 2 am to remember this is prison not Real World. Oh well, another day another sneeze another twig breaks in Tibet becomes a monkey’s uncle in Baltimore. Pity from the heavens – may rain when we’re on our last leg. Not soon enough to wash out the yells of sorrow. Happy to be out at this time with friends. Alas, my butter bean naught where never hitches up her blue jeans, till there. Till now. The moments over. I stand beside you, besides you there is him, her tomorrow. My pen bleeds it’s sorrow and happiness, in Ink of joy and this battered and drowned paper to say out thoughts and convey our feelings.
Missed the meaning in this blog? I think we may have too. So read & reread. Differences everytime.
Thank you patient readers.