Thursday, September 25, 2008

Pleasant Thrum

One child understands space, the other time. Where the marigold was last seen waltzing. Winter runoff exposed blue glass, gleaming detritus from a decades-old dump.

Red mud, white scat. A square of sunlight mistaken for papyrus, even these days. Low brook, pleasant thrum.

They come hard or not at all which - I can this now - isn't true. Three acres alongside a high wire. He turned off the engine to give me directions and I was greatly impressed at how gracefully he pronounced the name of several Hindu gods and goddesses.

How did she feel, the actress, kissing him there on the boat? They watched stars fall with others at the airstrip, though nobody said a word to anybody else. I'm back, ready for bed.

"Why do you always have to do your twenty sentences?" One of the dogs slept out all night which made him friskier than usual come morning. The tent drying on the dining room table made both of them laugh.

No going back, no "tweaking." One of the students reminded him of Scott Baio, another of Luke Perry. That's not music, it's a fan belt going.

Archers on horseback, that's what I want you to dream about. Or Randy Rhoads, whichever comes first.

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