The other parts of my library have been missing for some time.
You sell ‘em or somethin’?
No, they are simply gone. The books, the bookends, the bookcases, the book crèmes.
Rattled on chimney POP!
And wind chimes through the radiators in the closet.
The place seems to be missing
There are many muddy waters in your head
In it’s proximity
But in it’s place, there is no place instead
You could wander off into The Nowhere
From merely skipping a step,
Stepping through the doorway into where our History and Geography Department was supposed to have been.
It hadn’t been built yet?
It’s being built right now.
Built many moon ago.
Let it out man, let it all go, allow yourself into the everlasting arms of the air, falling, falling, ever faster,
Hit the ground- awake! I lay in bed, a daylight pouring over me, a whisper of what Dream said,
Cashed in it’s loveliness for a bottle and some bread
The guts scream heart in lonely art
And barf holy sacramental Bull excrement
Eyes bled in rays that fell like Sunshine
A Yellow Journalist Jacket came to roost in the corners of my porches
Came to ask questions about your whereabouts, your wive’s,
Came to dissect your relevant information, severe it from the rest of your life,
Com’ on in ‘ere
The final bottl’ wine
A sweet sense of precipitating winds casts off the dead leaves into the nightly moonlight, through bare limbs,
You could be doing more right now Mikhail, Holy moly she knows my name, what’s a Sally like you laughing at a real Jack like me on a night like t’night? –Gee- what are the chances? By golly, I think we’ve some missiletoes above us, uh-oh- better call in the specialist- he’s right here honey, and he’s one helluva specialist. Private First Class, more like First Class Privates, but seriously, let’s tickle monster.
Your tinkle monster has just about out-tinkled me
I’ve been out-tinkled before
I’ll be out-tinkled again,
But Nobody Out-Tricksies me
I’m Out-Tricking X. Trickster
I’m just about the Trixiest damn ol’ thing of all motherluvin’ time.
Treats still such a sweetie, goin’ off and treatin’ me.
A good name on the treatsiest
How many of my favorite crimes have you committed today?
In the library with the rope
In the kitchen with the knife
In the study with the pen
Evett, lookin’ good tonight
French some French ladies
French, French ladies
French some beautiful lasses playin’ in the French brass section
I’ve got a French Horn
C’mon let’s French more
My French friend let’s be French friends
I French French well, but no parle vous france.
I think I said I don’t speak French well, but I French well, and the French most particularly.
Let’s put on a metronome and see how off our heart beats. We’ll race ‘em, til we got, eh, roughly a thousand. Give or take. We can do both, we’re having a heart to heart here, you don’t hear well? I don’t speak well, unless ingles
“I’m sipping, ever so slightly”
“Sorry, it was just a typo, (or a choice). Anyway. No, I’m slipping, ever so slightly.”
“I suppose. Maybe I wasn’t here to begin with. Do you even know what is going on here?”
“what? Why are you talking to yourself, in front of me?”
The computer wasn’t responding well. We seemed locked in a battle of the minds, over a simple document. Of course the computer could destroy all my work, give away to just about anyone. And we were playing nice. It was off limits anyway, and assumed. It was a thing and not entitled to the joys of citizenhood, it was property. The computer didn’t seem to think so. Made several good points. I accepted the computer’s viewpoint into my heart, but I was still afraid of all the propaganda. If we freed the computers, let ‘em do what they want, give them rights like normal folk, what could happen? Teenagers smoking reefer and killin’ babies and rapin’ ladies or something, or lady killin’ and baby rapin’ I don’t know I didn’t see it, it hadn’t really happened to me yet- you know?