Saturday, April 18, 2009

april 18th, 2009

an older poem...

similar to carbolic acid

The captain threw his soft, muted trumpet sound into the fire beneath the stew.  
I would love to make simple love to an umbrella he uttered, but by that time the audience had left.  White wooden chairs leaking hypocrisy and lingering garlic burps were his lone companions.  Outside the rain pounded the pavement while stop signs barked suspiciously.  What a strange night he thought.  His only friend has died the night before after suffering his third consecutive glucosidase, beta; acid pseudogene overdose.  Upon hearing the news the captain considered destroying all of his work and jumping under a train, but made a large pot of coffee instead.  His friend was only thirty-five and deserved another smile or two.  The captain now sat in silence, fornicating the trumpet's mouthpiece with his eyes.  They sure left in a hurry he thought, I didn't even get to play my favorite tune.

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