JoeDanielz

How did it feel to be the chosen one - the soul food of France? How did it feel when you, all thimble and nimble were caught in the web of François Mitterand's last supper? O how wrong and righteous François must have felt after tasting your forbidden notes! So terrified your friends and family must have been to watch you get rapt from a god and then ceremoniously plucked to perfection? Did  you, little Ortolan, chirp to mum and pop and assure them your saintly assumption would not go unnoticed? Or did you have a frog mired in your throat? Were you little Ortolan confused, when you - a prized obsession - were

The mastodon rib leaves the once cherished model with nowhere to go. (give him here) the lively manican has been pantsed and now we must reclothe him. (how shameful) [yes, do get a handle on your personables] (to wear undies or not to wear undies that is our question) applauded the curator *shakespeare would be proud*   (now let us begin) one holds his appendages and scuttles him heavenly while the other grabs for his brand new trousers. (how shiek) [how debonair] interrupting the undulous affair the arbitrator procures - what in the name of samuel clemens are you doing here? - reluctant, but inevita

On my way to the city market i went past the curb where we met your mind. i got a salmon sandwich on two sesame seed slices of bread. no mayo, no change. cashier said: have you heard? when i turned i saw your face on a milk carton. 2 percent. i'm glad they were trying to preserve the pith of your smile. i opened the door to your refrigerated hell, and upon closer palpation, i noticed you had my dollar in your pocket, and i liked it. ------------------------ Revision Below: En route to city market i went past the curb where you met god. got a salmon sandwich on 2 sesame seed slices of bread. no mayo,

 i met this guy called god. he sat next to me and my pint. he was gangly and dressed in a long beige bath robe, and had an unkempt beard. the slob. he sat in the right and i in the left, inquired about my family and i about his, but wouldn't shut up about his son. "the one and only" he says. i asked him how his son was doing, and he said "o, nothing between him and heaven." then like a seventy year old nun in the 60's he told me i ought to go to church more often. with all this religious talk i figured him a priest, but he said he lived upstairs. what kind of priest lives above a bar? i paused. well, maybe that does make sense after all. so i

What happens to a dream demurrred? Does it implode like a puffer fish Or will it sub-serve you like a Kempis? "Aren't we supposed to alpha- betize and desiccate them into manila folders?" Wouldn't they just dry up like a raisin then? Oh no dear, that's resin. Doesnt a dream demurred grow wrinkled and absurd like losing one's youth? Or won't a dream demurred ferment and perturb? You mean like two pervs playing grab ass in someone's front yard? No, but maybe it forms a moldy skin like a brick of colby-jack that's been left out in the Sun for way too many days. Or does it expire?

Words on the table spill like milk, Listen, "the mitochondria are the cells' power station. "We're rusted and rustic and fat in a corrsett." Those loose laces around your mouth Are our doctrine of truth. I say, "Grant an idea or belief to be true" As in, La Sein is not wet? La Sein, La Sein, La Sein Let this, be our doctrine of Ruth. "Dear sir, I must say the intellectuals here are more off hand and irreflective than thought" Pipe down boy! We only use them as a clock, Thus regulating the length of our lecture, so tick, tock.

She had braided hair, skin that sags and bags beneath her bruised eye. Her feet are a silted tribute to Gia's nurturing clap She hides the criminally insane Who hoard all the acorns for fear of an unfruitful winter She shades the lost shepherd "When he has left a baby lamb for veal" But if you softly glide your touch all along her flesh you may feel the brail that'll tell you when her leaves may fail.

We were under sky lit trees focusing on the flowers and weeds. We thought of the blue collar bees who, swallowed whole the nectar from mother nature's bosom, and secured it in their pockets for change. We saw white collared ants hauling their ill and demented away from the hill, leaving them to be caramelized in the palm of the Sun. There were leaves weeping in fear from the darkness that has now disappeared, mountains obstructing our view of any escape. And you who stood there with your hair taut back, opened your loose banana pealed lips and let out the words I fear most, "I really quite like it here."

I'm black toast and tolerant, crispy on the outside but fluffy in my insides. I'll accept eggs and ham or you can carpet me with jelly or jam -However, I don't take kindly to butter- And not to taste crude, but should you choose not to use any of these foods, I should warn you: I shall be in the nude.

It creeps and it crawls all along the alley lanes It strangles and it brawls When it sneaks out into the Halls. It sucks in its gut and puffs out its cheeks Just so that it may blossom into a costume. "She's been laying here for days" -She's been troubled in so many ways- A locket without a portrait and a Watch that's afraid to tell time. "Youth in all its wretchedness" I must live beyond my means. It seems, but another has gotten her Bedroom walls painted black and now there's No way we may ever paint it back.