This was an exercise in lyrical prose; it's more poetry than anything else.



     So where does it?
     To and fro, hi dee hoo, up and down, round and go. Singing like a vinyl jester, skipping to my own folly and imperfection, tossing and turning at night while vivid creatures gnaw at my brain. Like the music of a fallen angel, the blistering words and stinging lyrics broken in the gutter of the soul. Barefoot the parapetic mind lingers through, stepping on bleeding toes, freedom in the pain of knowing.
     Hollow words.
     Dance and prance, jingle and jangle, tango and fandango, loop dee loo and snicker doodle. Ice cream flavors and rigor mordus, static love contained in breath mint tins and stacked on high shelves of wanting. Torn from the heart, leaves of fettered cabbage flaking off on the musty linoleum of a cafe kitchen. A voice croons from an archaic twister, swallowing coins and moving without care, spewing love songs and heartache from grooved teeth. See into the soul, the nuts and bolts, the rods and arms, a motor. Light blinds the titles.
     Mixtures of fake milk, strained beans and porcelain cups with minute veins spreading from the bottom; hot to the touch. Dying eggs laid flat and fluffed, yellow cheese and thick blubbers of ham. Steam coils into the face, warm and lovely, mother's fingers on a baby's lip. Sucrose and a printed beachball, watching and waiting, wanting and sweetening, living a lie.
     Long lights hum above, whispering into the higher ear, engraving cryptic messages. Fantasies lingers, desperate attention and wicked wiles, caged animals and loving memories of first kisses. Shined boots and thick wallets. A coin for the homeless man and a smile. Listening and praying, hoping and saying, looking to God and three pennies away from a ham sandwich.

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1996-98 Sam "Longfellow" Sandoval.
No part of this text shall be reproduced without permission.