Hey Garland I Dig Your Tweed Coat

Hey Garland, I dig your tweed coat. I’ll trade you a domino this size, mothball-scented. The woman silk nude tie painting his chest. One celluloid stay exposed through his nibbled collar. Feet speckled the sidewalk. Faces gurgled through windows. Passing cars gum rubber streaks. Neon plants swim like green seaweed to a deep rhythm of blues. Red thyroid sunsets, flame in speckled chemistry. Pipes run off dark tubes. Erase into marks that pour the dye of darkness. Crystal comes together as silent as ink. “I don’t think I could let it go. I got it at the religious scene” Teeth let go, tobacco juice, anRead More →