(no subject)
we were going to see our friends in the orange house, the ones who play cards all day with old people, move in together when all their husbands and wives leave them for their best friends. "he was supposed to be plowin my driveway, not my wife..." the kind whose cases of budweiser disappear as soon as theyre opened.
but we never got there.
we went on a journey to the north, where sweet mopsy resides. we shared a bottle of wine on the roof, sympathized with an unloved horse, kept going out for an adventure and discovering we needed no better place than the company we already had. and then there was the sunset over the vermont mountains. and the barn which we were refused entrance to. and a tromp through the woods with whitey mcrasta- and what we have classified as the moldy ass hair he provided (do pardon the vulgarity, be glad it wasnt an eighth you had in your pocket). and best of all, the dear boy whose pace is slow and whose soul is so comfortable to commune with.
and then it was gone, like it had come: several hours in a box down the highway. and then an old hilarious dreamer met us outside the brattleboro co-op. and we laughed for hours. yoda imitations: dada love kiah, yes? yes? confused stories: doses in orange slices, and the possibility of eating the whole plate before you knew-- he almost did. references to and old life: jackie ushers you through contra dancing as if you were traffic in need of a cop with a whistle.
and then the box carried us to a college, where a girl named silver in green velvet pants yearned to share an adventure. and a strange boy told us we were his last customers. ever. "trust me, youre getting more out of this than i am." i wonder.
back for another few days. i have clay to tempt into form and words to glean. and a little farm with passionate struggling farmers. and a little girl to inspire my endless joy.
but we never got there.
we went on a journey to the north, where sweet mopsy resides. we shared a bottle of wine on the roof, sympathized with an unloved horse, kept going out for an adventure and discovering we needed no better place than the company we already had. and then there was the sunset over the vermont mountains. and the barn which we were refused entrance to. and a tromp through the woods with whitey mcrasta- and what we have classified as the moldy ass hair he provided (do pardon the vulgarity, be glad it wasnt an eighth you had in your pocket). and best of all, the dear boy whose pace is slow and whose soul is so comfortable to commune with.
and then it was gone, like it had come: several hours in a box down the highway. and then an old hilarious dreamer met us outside the brattleboro co-op. and we laughed for hours. yoda imitations: dada love kiah, yes? yes? confused stories: doses in orange slices, and the possibility of eating the whole plate before you knew-- he almost did. references to and old life: jackie ushers you through contra dancing as if you were traffic in need of a cop with a whistle.
and then the box carried us to a college, where a girl named silver in green velvet pants yearned to share an adventure. and a strange boy told us we were his last customers. ever. "trust me, youre getting more out of this than i am." i wonder.
back for another few days. i have clay to tempt into form and words to glean. and a little farm with passionate struggling farmers. and a little girl to inspire my endless joy.