I erased everything I ever wrote about Dean Martin)
buwaynos deeyass. this afternoon I was working in a daze, the other 3 people were talking about something, but i was just making barely audible noises from somewhere below my throat. almost purring, but a wary purr.
salad for lunch. eat alone.
hey y’all, count the syllables with me:
My mouth is oily.
I thought it would taste so good:
Cocoa butter. Mmmm.
[as you can see it’s not a real haiku: if you took out the words “cocoa butter” the poem — or in this case, “joke” — doesn’t exist anymore. BUT in some ways isn’t the fleeting nature of
Hold on, let me just finish this: “That’s great how that worked out. At least parts of our trips will overlap, and we won’t be sitting around wishing the other would email us! Perfect. We should plan all our vacations together, even if we take them separately.]
Dean Martin, you were totally unhappy, weren’t you. the trope of the sad clown. you were so jovial and carefree and “drunk,” but you were broken inside. dino, maybe they see through us. here, pal. me and you. help me finish this salad? i couldn’t possibly
(the things we did last summer, but the train comes screeching into the station, and my headphones can’t compete, so begin the insertion of quotes into text.