Two days later I come to and find wolfs
in my flannel sheets and a Czar hiding in
my bedroom slippers. I put on a robe
to cover-up my balalaikas and stagger
to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.
Here’s the point where you may want
to add wind chimes or just a couple of
bacchanal sirens taped to the kitchen
counter. See, I never make it to the
coffee pot. I trip over my oversize dog
and land in a drapery crew cut, breaking
my commemorate precaution shimmy
feather and flashbulb to heaven where
I’m cordially greeted by statuesque hype
mugging milk and honey on a leash. But
this muffler looks nothing like my dog’s
bow-legged consulate crucified with jingle
sequins of red velvet skull booties, which
for anyone interested, are hand-knitted
in a one-size-fits-all brute hymn-anointed
gentility replica of manhole covers.
Maurice:
Word virbations at their finest hour..So enjoyed this..