Sitting Among Talking

I'm not a fan, she said
Mouth warbling with marbles
Broken crumbs of crystal falling
by the wayside, the wayside being the sides of mouths and chin and keeping chin up is not a help but comes across like neck stretches and close shaves and ties too tight and eluding the truths

I agree, he said
Frail in his pants
Stick figured and mannered so mildly
as to suggest a woman almost, a demure matriarch of a man, one who looks good in drag, so good you don't even know until you get home and by then you weren't game for much anyway and so you both sit there and drink some beers and watch box scores on the TV and laugh about the time you thought he was a girl with sinewy legs

I hope that's not my fault, she said
What would be your fault, he asked
The fact that you are also not a fan, she said
Drifting off like two piney birds with inner ear infections
At once falling and then in the next instance catching themselves and repairing the course but only enough to send them falling in the other direction
like paper lanterns set ablaze and released into the sky as sacrificial pilgrims falling apart at the seams and folds and opening up into horrendous animals of prey looking for anything else that might perpetuate their burning climb to the heavens like a ladder of smoke to ring around and reach before the likely collapse where water is friend and ground is friend and fire was friend and now rest is penultimate
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5.8.12

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