Saturday, December 10, 2005

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Monday, December 05, 2005

Friday, December 02, 2005

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Tooth and Nail (No Reserve!)

Did You Miss Me? AKA (Pronounced Acka, it DOES NOT Rhyme with Cloaca...Wait, it Does) Meet Me in the Vestibule!

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Monday, November 14, 2005

Saturday, November 12, 2005

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Monday, November 07, 2005

Brokered Bones

So, this is the familiar story -- tried, true, and trodden -- of a blood clot that travelled to the eye socket. The place to be, the place to get a ride to. If you can spare it. Can I share your air, I'm going the same way. Just over the hill, through the woods, to the depths of your soul, to the very end of me. There's an end in there somewhere. But in the mean time, here's five bucks for gas and an air freshener.

And while we're on the way, we can pick up one of my friends. We'll call him Capillary Frank. It's not his real name and he doesn't have a face, anymore. The dogs were let loose, I guess. Someone let them out. And someone wrote a song trying to identify the culprit. They write a lot of songs about a lot of things. They'll never run out of notes or ideas. But we're flat out of luck and you can't repair that with a pump.

So kick, kick, kick. You're down on your luck and two feet in the grave. Four more to go. Can you spare the air? It's just ripe for breathing. It's just riping for cutting through that beautiful sunset. And when's the last time anyone's ever seen a sunrise? It's a fabulous sight, or so the post cards I keep getting say.

Old whiskers pale the mountain chatter on the way to the eye socket. It's clumping up and going down for seconds. Finely imported and finally important. Finally over. Just come on over, the phone's been ringing in my ears. It's your familiar scent and I can't collect the smell anymore.

Were you going my way or coming right for me?

Friday, November 04, 2005

Gator Aid

Apple rhubarb, Cantaloupe slap

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Monday, October 31, 2005

In Closing

At the core of an apple, there is a perfect math. It owes much of its nature to science, and it's pretty blue eyes to the sea below.

Thing is, the sea is suing for custody. It's a funny thing, because aside from the pearls and sunken treasures, the ocean can't pay for a lawyer. No self respecting member of the BAR Assocation will work Pro Bono for 85% of the world. It's just not feasible, and no courtroom can hold the surging deluge.

So, for now, the matter stays tied up.
Bound and gagged. Tarred and feathered. Shollacked and tethered. Ziplocked and baggied. Sassofrassed and handlebarred. Kid gloves, alabaster mitts.

In the back hall, there sits a buffet. Dusty and messy, cathode raised and alone. No one eats there, but the macaroni and cheese still has that crusty layer of congealed cheese skimming the surface.

So, for now, America waits.