S.B.T. 26

I can’t even look at myself sideways, never mind facing up, she said under exile. If it hadn’t been for the deep-fried carnival, sticky throat-burning cotton ghastlypink candy and the mexican girls pink stuffed donkey on her uncle’s back, the chainlink alloy shackle bells old buttercream popcorn stench and oiled biceps, maybe everything would have been different, maybe less pink. Turquoise stones set in dented fried aluminum nickel cheap stuff. Nothing good but it’s pretty in a found object junkyard wine party way. Footstep soft focus abstract echo glass chips flitter off the streetlight and click off the shoes alone alone in the magictime night performance astray cat wander.

Sometimes I see faces drift through my nightmare television, she told me tight sourstink room window on a distressed tumble rock backside, his phone the little knicknacks scattered across the desk he didn’t move or that his shirt was pink, he made promises unintelligable made him thin pride ivy league inaccessible. Act one smart confusion wrong monopoly hotel indiana avenue yellow the boot charm cutting through black lines arranged in neat squares.

How can anyone conjecture the prediction of who is that sunrise welt of sliding dew on the McCartney rose petal stillness? Or answer an offering to join a candles in the grouphug wheel on a spin around don juans castenada nagual?

Angela her name was, but she was alexandrina maria de costa and her sister deolinda. She actually asked me if I wanted to be saved, from what I whisper, from hip, she said. You can’t be saved with that hippopotamus she said. I said I like my hippo, he’s strong he has kerouac. Unheard of she said like an inca minstral, nobody knows if the tree fell. I don’t wanna be saved I said. Well OK but I will check out your captain she said. Why, I said would you do that, just being polite she said.

My eyes don’t follow the strangle notch pages, she said I use books for doorstopper, it’s more practical. Where did you learn that utile futile I said, huh she said. Where in the mad hatter’s pocket theory of correctness fit? what’s practical got to do with it. The milky way spiral about like that.