faradian

Tuesdays are trash days, which is a problem. Such a small trash bin – the weekend bag full Monday morning. New Monday bag full Tuesday night, earliest. New bag Wednesday, full to change Friday. New bag for the weekend. April has the system down pat. Back of her hand. Old hat and all that jazz. She also sweeps floor, cleans plate, and takes cat to the vet.

Tears fall into Ears like so much Fear fills up the Years. I wonder Where you are, my Dear and why you're There instead of Here. You should be Near.

There is a driving range, next to the drive-in theater. Of all the things you can do in Maine, nothing is most of them. A trash bin of empty bottles no consolation for that brand of boredom. Across the street, a speaker calls from fire station: fifty-four south oak street, twenty year old female, chest pains. Sunday, now. Twenty years can make you hate a place. A car evades careening off a light pole and slides some yards down the road. The station looks on. Fifty-four south oak street, twenty year old female, chest pains. To life, lights and sounds – ambulance bursts forth and hurtles down th

A man falls off a bridge and dies. A man falls on a bridge and dies. A dead man falls on a bridge. Falls onto a bridge. A dead man falls onto a bridge. A dead man falls onto a bridge. Cars slam on their brakes and slide into each other. Cars slam on their brakes to avoid him and slide into each other. Cars avoid him and slam into each other. Cars swerve to avoid him and slam into each other. People swerve their cars to avoid him and they slam into each other. People turn their cars to avoid him and they swerve, slamming into each other. People steer their vehicles to avoid him and their cars slam into each other. People st

All he knows of conversation is only yeses The rapid assent of a man who cannot worry About information or getting the bends He is on a mission The captain rallying his troops and Thus, a missionary Converting the unbelievers He is all these things no sensible man Can be at one time because He is, of course, insensitive This mans stands at the grindstone And works himself long hours Becuase he is too dull to realize That sharp men are merely the swords they fall on