Exalted up on high in fairie-world where paper meets stone, beauteous-color sprayed painted every-where as the glitter-machine worked over-time.
Jail-birds and out-laws out-grow their cages and flee the world, a roll of the dice in the casino, a moon-faced x-roulette-star playing with fate.
Henry pratfall after pratfall, falling on rough cement pavement day after day, getting scraped up, benighted by it. Finding relief plenty, getting the best of it up on high, getting high some.
This must be the the cool-life, Henry thought: Hell-bound, full of whiskey and morphine, full of country music. The holy-rambler, the junk-champ down-town on rouge-morgue avenue looking for the high-way.
On clear-days going to observatories, beyond the lustrous stars faeries peering out from behind corners at you.
On clear-days going to observatories, beyond the lustrous stars faeries peering out from behind corners at you.
Settled way-way back in your sky-colored cadillac cruising through rows of red and blue indian-corn-fields, green rows of rainbows full of halos, jettisoned.
Happy holidays baby, thanksgiving and christmas, days of the gods.
Happy holidays baby, thanksgiving and christmas, days of the gods.
No comments:
Post a Comment