Wednesday, February 24, 2016


The boss would like to see us not in person
                                                       —Victoria Chang

Dear Slippery Spike,

Well, firstly, are you still sleeping? And it be-
ing the Month without Mouths, are you here?
Right?  Morning is here, that’s for sure.  Morn-
ing-Morning (or more like Afternoon, but I’m
with Los Angeles, which is Here, too, so I can

call it morning if I prefer to do so, can I not?)
Oh, and Slightly Overcast and Overclassed,
meet your freshman year.  Its man, Under
the Carcasses (of course), and I swing in the
Caucasus (politically) while sifting for hang-

overs with First of Kin, Fist of Kiln, and poor,
dear Terror Water.  I mostly note that Dinner
was sainted with Fuchsia Glove (I’ve Steven
of the Heart, you see), and Herbal (or, maybe it’s,
Hair-Gel?) Web Syndrome.  Are you still sleeping,

Simpering Mike?  Please, can you take some
cabbage to the garbage, Drink, Drank, and Drunk.
I’ve been Meaning (we switch roles occasionally),
and we’ve been meaning to tell you, too, Tycoon
Lynched Berg, that nobody (Nobody) stops with his

head just barely up and into the gouge, right Gauge? 
(Whom I love all the livelongday, and wouldn’t you?)
Please, oh, please, Funky Dragon Leg, please (!) dance
the Dance of the Purple Light with me tonight? 
The one you were invited to invent

a little over a month ago, before passing the
distinct privilege of its initiation along to me. 
Ah, to be in such pleasure, at such a place, along-
side yr grace, thinks the lovely and talented inventor/
choreographer!  And don’t you dare make me enter

Mr. Mercury, especially while stargazing or simply
staring down Mezzanine Mouth (and the mezzanine
mouth of Odd Johnny).   Of I Can’t Remember....?
Please, oh, please, send me one single word of
Affirmation so that I may put Heart back into it. 

Yours, As Ever,
Too Truly.