Monday, August 29, 2016



-She's in Recovery. Perpetually.

-Booze? Drugs?

-Revisited them twice. But this is worse.
The worst one.


-Ah but you defile it! LOVE!

-That bad?

-The one in heavy leather volumes.

-Her bosom heaving? The crazy decayed
broad screaming in the attic? Some nut lecher
posing whitely on the noir heath?

-Never stops. And more atrocious yet, the
slimmer volumes of romantic poetry.

-There’s the killer!

-So she tries the Geographic Cure. Europe, Asia.
Biking, running, hiking! But the GPS sends her
to dead-end burgs where she thinks the village idiot is Lochinvar.

-Far from the mapping crowd!

Labels: , , , , , , ,

Sweet mercy
Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?