Sunday, February 24, 2013



Being soprano was not her style. hers was chariots and buckwheat. Nervous smiles and  the witching hour dancing on a  bum. A dime for any laguna _ she's got an alias for a situation. Comedy's not her forte but goat's ass aint her bag either Anymore than hanging out with aunties and uncles , old Bobs, dead-beats, squares, and she's not keen on being seen as a palooka; don't like wiseguys, or sappy mud wearing satyrs. But shes' won with the wending ass of her girls. Stray she might be she's loyal as air, and wondering as chamber music as it cups its hand on her ass in the dark. O k shake those ringlets! wipe that smile off, no hold those big bad eyes up. Come closer you shirker. No more strikebreaking days for you honeypie. Your restless night are over. Singlular and plural subjecting objects to the ringsome throw of your awful laugh. She lived in a radio between the tubes and the rube~o she's a  hussy witha  pussiewussy!.

  Okay Mister Romeo.

_                                                          _ this intensity's beckoning your style.