Else
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...of trolls and trepidations, of scary Mary, wary by the temporary estuary, turned and tottered, bewailing by the seawall, suffling through the sifting strands of grime, aweeding her term at the whorl, her marmot to shine, glory glory. Mary statuary plies her carpetbag of buns, sonny, sidle up, riddle out the storm and dranged if you doze see dough, sea drowsy, kept, sized.
Overbroad the sproutling seethes, the bundling moraine, the stormless vestibules of time, vasting spreadlessly, wetter wetter everweary drops. The sands of a buttonless ocean depthtitute and insurpeptably agapably abyssed as good as a myrtleshell foiled and frapped, flayed to wrest. There poor Mary whittles away the oars, sextants into minuets, militants into heirs, ewers into dice, dace into wrecks, reeks into mints, asturdily ruddy, welling, and oval. Braced and brocaded against a razing tide of opprobrium, lassed and jippered, swarm-tossed and respitute, she places a thought on the bow and a wish on the till. Sealight bouncing and burling beyond her ken, Mary wanders in place, perplexilated. Astrand the playa, toes sandled, gaze grayed at the imperceptible line separating sea from sky, dazed, dozing, cast forward, past tensed. The whorl without end amending memories: Recalled or imagined? Thought or deed? Bleary Mary tarries seaward, drawn betide, anchored, swept. Time, "turn." Mary the Weary hears but heeds only the restful hum of the sea, sooth, soft, vagrant, meliculous, a present comfort. Mary stationary moves Brownianly, stencilled in the cudgels of empathy, on-endingly. Sundry to Zuiderzee. String, stunner, odium, whimper. Singing: "Blustryful dreamboat, weak at the knees! Starfish and doughboys may do as they please. O windy scent, go Michoacan, O windy scent, go Michoacan.. A bumblebee in December. Windy scent, go Michoacan... Gamalaneer, gamalaneer, Elocutionary Ben!" Over time, awaiting space, Aloe-wishes hears, off away far, wistily imagining, sensing, believing, hoping the song somewhere is Mary. Still. "He can play a bugle call like you nab a herbivore. Such a rascal, make you jump from heretofore. It is the dustpan in the sand, o, runny jam!" Inauspicious Aloe-wishes strews the crill and drains the ditches, chromes his hare and crooks his breaches, lives his life within ellipses. There he shares epistolary queries and confectionery ere he dare declare himself to Mary most exceptionary. Ply as he might and come as he may Aloe pummels the depths of rascality with alacrilous introspeculation. Mary on his mind and heart in his soul, Aloe wheezes, borne and brought to bier, trussed and trundled, enaltared, avaricial. March the strand finish to start, blazing gazedly at the soapy sea, one last glance at bleary Mary his ultimate orison, sapped, sunk. She knows the ocean keeps its secrets, she knows the footprints tidally fleeting away yet whisper, "gone, done, lone." ------------------------------end------------------------------ -----------------------------restart---------------------------- In my family we take in strays. We only live here. Home is a hundred dollar bill, a hat on the floor, a dripping umbrella. In my family we are different. We are friendly strangers. We eat each other's food but wear our own clothes and breathe our own air. ------------------------------end------------------------------ -----------------------------restart---------------------------- Said Bill the Pill to Sally McGill while walking down Telegraph Hill, "I've a good mind to sign on the dots of a line." Answered Sal, "You'll be danged if I will. I'll be pulling a plow and riding a cow 'fore you hear me utter a vow." "But darlin' you know how I loves ya so, and you know that I'll always be true. Well, maybe except for a time or a two." "What day will that be when you're honest with me? You've done naught but lie since we met." "Ah, but sweetheart', not true. P'raps that time or that two I mighta failed to remember to forget." "I just forgot what it was got me out of the house to go walking with some Pill named Bill." "Sure, you talk like a tough but I know it's all bluff. Weren't no beaux tapping your window sill." Sal McGill left Bill at the top of that hill and fell in with a butcher named Joe. Bill's living just fine on an undotted line with a Pill-popping singer named Flo. Atop Telegraph Hill Sal and Bill wander still, as they do, as they will. ------------------------------end------------------------------ -----------------------------restart---------------------------- ------------------------------end------------------------------ -----------------------------restart---------------------------- |
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