On the Calamity of Cobalt Sphericals
(according to Neckbone Nelson)
Is to be alone and horny
as a nine-headed rhinoceros.
With arthritis in your left hand
and rheumatism in your right.
From the verses of Shakespeare to the violence of Football, a soft hand on the nape of my neck to the rim's hard rattle after a dunk, the mute of Miles to the rhymes of Rakim, the simplicity of Hershey's chocolate to the complexity of garlic pepper seasoned, cedar-planked salmon drizzled with lemon-dill butter, my thoughts scatter like grains of black sand across a wind-blown beach.
1 Comments:
that is cold...
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