(a smidgeon of fool’s gold)
there are not enough olives.
there’s nowhere to turn right.
i’d be a surfer too if i
looked like that. the doors
open. my eyes do too. cute
catchwords wobble in and out
of my ears. oh and they are
so going nowhere.
i always alight upon a leafy
metropolis. once alit i find
scads of scowling kids
gliding up and down
the smoking sidewalks.
there is no flame in me.
i keep extinguising my coffee.
n.b., there is no distinguished
difference between taupe and
ivory by the looks of these eyes
ores. brays an embalmed eeyore.
