Monday, October 23, 2017

may not make sense, may not care

Conversant transistor merchant jumpers cram mouthfuls of potato jam where their mainstream monocles filter out combined moments of genius testers.  Never so ambulatory as when the music infuses and so it’s a horrible death to sit at a desk all day long, chained by porcupine tentacles and breathy landscape drum circles. Still, he got up and walked away, left it that way forever although it followed him, trailing not far behind, but he never looked back and didn’t succumb. The gravity was real, especially in the evenings but it was something else in the mornings and so he tried to fly by singing his wings into being fantastic under the awnings of Brooklyn salesmen wearing lipstick and gorgeous smiles, grinning ear to ear, causing the initiated to fear what might be hiding behind the façade, the showcase windows, into the shadows but something lurking within called him in and he was never ever seen again.