I don’t like darjeeling, rather.
This thought mulling last night’s contretemps
concerning pornography. Yes,
it’s a new word dithering about every other
day or so. Like when to be a bad boy. So as to be
IrishFrench by proximity. So as to be 6’5” and blond and blond.
It’s been too long since I’ve seen the ocean.
Perhaps it was the soft cigarettes that quivered his
lips each mid-sentence. I’m sure I’d never think of that
with a blue sky. The movie was Night of the Hunter,
set in West Virginia, a jarring little seedpod of
many tattoos to come.
