do not disturb. that’s wut u said, i told the solid mahogany door. that’s another color, by the way. i can think of many a
bunny that (h)u(e) cd be [hee hee!]. but dust? under whose moon? certainly not mine. but, but: a ski bunny? a playboy, bunny or no? not a bugs. no rascally rabbit, dummy; no dumb bunny, for sure. but, you might cd be my nymphomajestic hunnybunny. if so, i do not mind.
chance has given us, while at first some downright head-scratchers, but look, my deary dear, how on fire we are now! these pyrotechnics have me falling head tumbling hard over hot-hearted heels in—is there a better color, a better word for this reddest, hottest, red-hot enchantment that lifts me now? (color me floaty, gliding above surfaces!)
so now we’re down to the nitty and the gritty, which sounds reasonable, not in the least dull. each day gleams; but the opacity of romance & beach-walks . . .
how does one differentiate tint when it comes to hot or cold
potatoes? perhaps frozen ones have lost that loving feeling? also, just learned that tint stands for thanks, i needed that. on we go, hunny. still as lovingly humid—and as hot—as ever.
vim & vinegar endlessly (i mean vigor)– revving through each day with a joie de vivre, unless a distance keeps us out of sync– nah– to life – to love ...
unless i am stupid silly (not counting stupid, silly, stupid in love, silly in love, etc.), i’m del is short for deliriously, endlessly, stark- ravingly
this is not a hue. (oh, you!) my heart, endlessly,
sassily, endlessly, at port (but rocking, riding the waves, in heaven).
how are these colors, again (there are none w/o “o” & “u”!)?? please! (hee hee!) (am i too much?) pretend i didn’t ask. because i am not stupid. just stupid in love. yuck! blech! (wink! wank! wunk!)
everybody shut up! i’m really very ecstatic about these ready-mades.
a practicality. for you, of course. can’t you tell? even though i told you already. it’s impossible to shut me up. endlessly repetitive. it’s a love story that just won’t quit. (so sue me!) <3
there was a yellow wood. oh, the hinterlands (since i’m not from england, as they say). this is
ridiculously pleasant (my attempt to remove the on again off again from my title). and what a title it turns out to be, doe ray me. del ray me, that is. and so,
la, a note to follow sew. but that’s another lyric, exceptional as it may be, but slightly less “frosty,” shall we say, than
the road less traveled. yet. isn’t this really a note about you and me? a few scribbles verily thereupon? and endlessly he goes, on and on, but about what? love? and endlessly. it’s certainly about time. delinquent is short for del.
but this isn’t a real color? is it? am i out of touch? (i find that hard to believe.) nevertheless, (i mean consider the circumstances)
this is where we find ours elves. [i.e., barely containing our elves] am i not seriously hilarious? well. everybody’s got somebody sometimes. randy? is that your name? (nah. haha.)
Bay, indentation, viscous rocks that are somebody’s pleasure. Pleasures that don’t go away but don’t exactly stay, stay the way they were meant to be. —John Ashbery
being what they are, the why and how of living, would seem to be qualities or values that are universal, if not scientific. but, upon some reflection and a generous chunk of living, that begins to seem a rather sel fish perspective. i’d wager this rather seasoned view could be put to test polling a quorum from just about anywhere by asking the following question to one and all: true love or true crime? gather up the votes and what will you find? while i have yet to perform such a study, and you might scoff at my method, or may suggest my query might be leading, has some sort of bias, who doesn’t think that, once your ‘scientific’ tally is complete, a fairly obvious deduction with regard to our fellow humans would likely be
Sometimes, I am quiet for what seems like an eternity, but this is not really me. This is out of necessity, practical ity (I used to have a lot of folks with whom I could and would freely speak—at times with a fire in my voice that would be met with as much red-faced determin ation as I, myself, could del iver). To anyone who feels stifled, I say speak out, do not shut up or down. I stand with you, even if what you have to say is at odds with what lies at the depths of my convict ions, my most stead fast beliefs.
Or yours. I look for ward to a day when conversa tion is a luxury for me once more; it will come. For now, silence goes on, with rare interruptions, except in my heart and in my head and on this virtual page where I speak and I speak as if perfecting language and honing the art of sway, or this is what I say to my self, an in ward mantra that bangs like cathedral bells behind my eyes and between my ears. I’m so
silent for now that when I am loud I will be so know ing better who I
am, and will do
so with pride and without a worry over where I might could quickly duck or scoot to hide—silent, so that when I choose to use my voice once more, I will know with certainty that I am heard.