writings and artwork by NRM

The Goof

echoes cradle around gloppy quick frames adding eternal confusion to eatables with drinkables. ladle ridden leaps like deformed ducks shot from ariel acrobats & trained dogs teeth around fur. nawing into wanting smile chilled heat warmth with a cheddar filled Texan sky that loops around atmosphere's- of all oozing honey chiseled hopefuls with papers in green exits signs ordering twice normal amounts to accompany any thoughts of what happened. ball dingles floor cat chased salami nut vicious aint gonna wake me up no more- flying pieces of life's meaning are swatted, bloodied, and cleaned, forgotten like blacked out lush fiends, slobbering about in run down fish tanks with floppin bones attached to weasel witted elevations.

these things move- quickly- they form horizons from mold glutted hypocrisy- as if bliss it self weren't enough. small child lost. big hot dog gone. fried lettuce frozen. hidden punches saved up. burnt forecasts flappin in circular motions breathing deeply to exhale puzzle anxiety glues to inside this brick wall of traces- in quivery insanity sun sets- comes eagle flown heard it's all befores- says she don't want no help- this communication in tongue laden don't piss me off drunken bravado slips from peanut butter vein scalped little soft spot babies head touch- cellular phones ring in purse sorrowed folks cry- tough skins. bell bottom bitch in paramedic tubular ate 50 Prozac's kid in vodka too, restraints could have been in order, with the paranoid flashes of oink oink light bulbs dazzling around the bull horned farmers field backroad gypsy creep- things like zebras- in every possible mouse hole, wandering around in conscious mind murble hookin a plump pimple warring had the bad skin bass boat all ready to go.

"hey fella? how bout one oh those soda pops?"

"sure thing mr. sure thing mr."

giggle juiced lap lipped lava loving shiit for brain- to much mushy mumbo gallivanting twitch twitch like hey hey what u say bout blue whispered walking trollop- they say the f word, bad cuss no no, its ok. Dammit! concentration cloud train interrupted by having to suddenly try and think with dam phone calls, kill the phone- unplug my thoughts…….

This story Copyright 2002 Nicholas Morgan.


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