auration

kinesis, not for too long. sitting (laying), perfect tingle of fall, summer lingering a bit longer. bells chiming, ice cream mi amigo? je pense qu'elle est parfaite, mais je sais que cela est la noix vraie. drums echoing off the school walls and buildings and hills. the J rumbles by, again, predictably, archaically shuttling and hustling. sneeze. laugh. yell. "wow, you're popular." honk. scream.

"sounds like a day in the park" or maybe "it's cocktail hour"

windy. arms barely touched. or did they?

birds are the audience, impolite observers, stuck on the ground you are! keys dangling, clop-clop-clop; must get in shape this year.

diesel smell, glass shattered, a picnic comes to an end. there was a bbq, ice cubes hissing on jet-black coals, hair standing up on my neck again. cooler than it looks, but wait till the sun sets. sage fuzz vellux awaits.

repetitive questioning, themes, didn't write back to myself. inspired? another need, not readily available to the senses, even though I feel senseless, and sensible. so many distractions, just as well. O! not again. but she makes me tick.

again in the sun, soaking, basking, back to the drawing board. trying to save this lapse, momentarily infinite and infinitessimal.

some child crying, laughing, calling for mommy. it's blue out.

parfaite.