augury doggerel

Sunday, July 21, 2002


I haven't walked into anything; the red spot on my forehead is just from holding my head up. I am full of the common drugs and the drug of the day: daylight without sun, thick air, and this terrible slow breeze shifting warm from here to here. My blood has nowhere to go.

Maybe you want to see beautiful women? So sit and have a drink. I'll try to keep my eyes open and watch for them for you, but I don't think they'll come. People hate their clothes on a day like today, but no one wants to move and no one falls in love on a day like today.

The guy with the stiff baboon legs and ass who walks in and out of the door and talks into the air is full of the self-importance of wearing shiny shoes and talking to someone only he can see. There's the whirr of a girl on a bike, but she's gone. A trio of female � child, mother, and grandmother � pacing out the ages of woman from shop to home. A pack of bored boys in premature hunch. Four washed cars with balloons and blowing horns from a sweaty wedding. I know where they're going. And Leonard bloody Cohen on the radio. What is it with this country and LbC? If I broke a bottle on the bar, no one would look up.


Post a Comment

<< Home