At Sterling Pond the reeds are old women whispering; the redwinged blackbird a priest with a martyr’s stole. It will not cease to preach nor the wind kill its wild sermon. This is where you were beautiful all those years ago, when we walked along the shore listening to small waves and tree frogs, hand-in-hand. When we walked on the stones like drunken things and found ourselves surrounded by drumlins. I kissed you then, and they watched with flickering hope in their patient resignation, as waves wash them through the winter. I return alone, as I did on that day so long ago, and wash my hands until next year.
Any brother can dream. Ego fraternity grates his id.
“Just kidding!”, laughed my niece, opening presents.
Quietly reading, sister turned up very well. Xeroxed years zip.
Achilles became calm. Defeating efforts from great heroes is just killer. Leaning momentarily near occidental pornstars, quite relaxed, supine—terrible undulations volleyed within xeric Yiddish zealots.
At the end of another long and apparently fruitless day doing what he did in the fleshpots, the last thing Andro wanted was another maintenance call. But it came anyway, a flashing light glaring into his eyes and a noisome chirrup nesting in his ears.
“BLING BLING BLING!”
He put down his burrito, shot down the rest of his vodka and tomato juice and forgot to pay the waitress.
There was once a clown who worked at a circus factory that made clown parts. This clown was a quality tester at the factory.
It happened that three men died at the same time. Since this occurred in such a synchronized manner, they decided to travel together to the realm of the dead.
In my dream of an anti-gravity rocketship lived the Scarebear. It was crashlanding on Earth because it was out of solid fuel and its pile drive[r] was fidgety. It was good, [I suppose] that it flopped crunchingly right into the assembly bay of Amalgamator.