But do call.
I won’t answer,
though. Sorry,
unlikely. I am
looking to do
so soon, how-
ever. Maybe.
So do! This
really gets me
there. Sure, it’s
no Poetics, more at
gotta hafta, more
at wrap up tightest
ever and get out the
door. I’m digging a
tunnel to Herzog this
evening (yes, as in
Werner), an immediate
celibate date (an inter-[Im]
mediate celebrate date).
(Hello, you’re not
here, I’m not here,
what a wonderful
cinematic ex-
perience!)?
And that’s a wrap!
And no, it’s not such
a bad feeling, like, say
a mule at the office all
morning: a version of
the walk of shame that
hints intermittently at
ROAD CONSTRUCTION
AHEAD.
Such jobs, blow by blow,
occasionally (and always
unexpectedly) throw in a
wrench of nostalgia that
stinks like hell (and is free
of charge, of course).
Oh, break-
dancing mule, what
comes next? I pause to
steady the burden, breath-
less, in sudden wonder.
