& wanders the hills killing time prior to

poetic experiences’ arrival, the precanceled

atmosphere nothing like a palimpsest over

great lakes, cars. one ghost-gum plays bimbette

one observes; the sum total sighs & stinks of

an earlier undelete fiasco. he’s a commensal

tool in this painting getting poked fun at –

several afro-beat wannabes cut a lunch of

enchiladas & ply each other with drinking

games: screens flicker & parry because

time is faith-based not the other way around.

he’s jolly also liquid smoke a cookie for the

soul. oh good fellow he opines in the

marginalia, sweet bursaria bless me with

the whammy to jump forward & into this

swooning vision of triple sec below. i’ll

be the icing i don’t care i always wanted

to be just like the giggles after anti-venom.