really it's out if it's in

flashback: labour day monday. sometime between 1998 and 2003, noon. "backstage" a polyester clad cocaine addict spills backwards over the sectional, cutting her head open on a clay pot. ten minutes later, screaming blood, the band hits the deck and there's this terrific silver sparkling flash. The pantsuited singer has not been grounded. The first chorded croon on the microphone completes the circuit, everything pops, and she's vanished. no one's seen her since, but there's a local claim of a front tooth found in her marshall.

anyway, i got the tooth and i made a necklace out of it and gave it to my girlfriend. she's like: "what the fuck's this? a tooth? is it yours?" and so i tell her the legend and she throws it at me and says, "you gave me some other chicks tooth?"

i hate you.

some guys find gold in the river.

i think that's a little simplistic.

don't sweat it.

i'm not sweating it.

whatever.

senorita i'm in trouble again

are mathematicians fools? they all go crazy trying to figure out how to get home. they're worse than lovers. we go so long around to find the thinnest things. And then we find they're not even there.

see through windows

cutting winter wind
screens much as curtains, hides my
coffee pot sunday