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kindred coobellow by walt valentine Printer Friendly

dear ernst,

yr devil may care hair and wet wombat smirk drown the evercrunch of a half hour lunch.

If a lack of form is truly norm then of course the word is never absurd, the itch of lice is always nice, and a damaged heart will never start. But please dont think me callous or nonsense- In fact, i often sit like a dervish whirl, pondering natures pretty girl with dreams and schemes and other such things all aflow on my bent halo. Of course thats not to say ill have it my way, for bemused and abused i choose refuse over brand new shoes anyday. Just alone in the shade and the rain, an eye demure as i often purr, slyly stroking a motorcycle brow, death on my shoulder somewhere somehow...

And between the lines of time, after the last call fall, a heavy hand and heart amidst the sands and squall - a pang is felt, a noise is heard, an echo rhythm grows inward, past the grime of street, the soul incomplete - on beyond the selves we meet...

So caterwaul the jabberwock, envelope light the chopping block, and kiss caress those darkest hours of loves begone and sweet and sours. Our time is a lonely one, sometimes joyous sometimes glum, until time dies we recognize that ever onward and ever up, this vessel an ever overflowing cup...

beyond beyond

-walt


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