Organ Grinder Half Asleep

by dschapman

Rib – Oven – Glove – Tong

Or was it all gone wrong? The perfect mix. I feel foamy. Foamy and light. I am light.

Haircut – wax – nutella – notepad – handgun – and Cap, the crown of love, blue velcro.

It will not be demolished, I read in an order. I stand for the organ of justice. I am a good vote for order. Ask me any question – I’ll give you a functional answer. The skies were pink and calamitous and I burned in the sand with my horse a mile behind me, already given in to the birds.

Streets went on again and I threw some money out the window. “Who was it that built all these streets? Streets? We have streets? Stripes have been drawn on our streets! Down in parallel strips with some gaps in between. Something streaky.”

I looked over my shoulder but the army wasn’t paying attention to me. I called in to the military lovers in their anguish with their soft, and bulging, sheets? Private lollipop – super suck and read and under-tan. Help in the teeth where it’s needed, but ghosts take their time in the way. You can’t just walk right through them. I am not my own grandmother again and again and you can’t keep the lines on the page for me.

Original figure: sunset over the valley. Everything moves.

But the three girls.. those were excellent moves, but the way they saved him, with this tight grips, was that contraction? Clues under the coat of the ghost. It has his name all over it.

Where is he? He shouldn’t have done that! Poor man! Poor old incredulous man! Racist! And a slave! No one is born this way. It is a system of small fixes that somewhat resembles a shape. I am the morning atomic fire; watch the words freely shiver and twist, merching, lowly, hanging tall, confused and totally blue-bellied. Magic hall of walls that are solid white and pages, metalloid beach head, born with phronesis but fixed with a vigorous blowjob. “He took it in his mouth,” and as I shook the hands, standing waist-high in the wave of golden grass, spreading wheat across their backs and into their hair. I hate the lair I hate that lair and I do not want to stay there.

And then his hand was in my pants again, mist came in – there’s no one home, and they forgot to close the windows. All the good little animals, full into ships. On God’s of all the precious stones, this stone, it was me, and I am holding it.

Japanese glass until somebody cracked. I’m not saying somebody did, but I know who it is. In the lost cave of the golden cyher-slow the don admittance ran its wild four-pronged fingers through the bushy undergrowth, probing foxes, void of dreams, with long and oaken noses.

“i’m a good person,” I said, pushing away the enchantress. “I’m an adventurer,” I said. I had chocolate but it made me sick. I dipped my plum in chocolate thumb. I blew my gun on the run from the purifification, king of beasts, easy girls, slender towers full of treasure and groves, berries in the perfect groves – so pure, so flotsome – brittle grass, eat bark, boil acorns, donuts and coffee for breakfast and one steak, please, with french fries, please.

My sister burped. “Excuse me please,” she said. She burped again. “Excuse me please again,” she said. “You forgot to say thank you,” I snarled. “You’re right! Please excuse me, thank you.”

“Just say whatever comes to mind, why don’t you! All the time! What comes to mind! I set you up to steal this gold! This is a gold hoax!”

Where the waves had ran blue they now turned red, thick with the red clay mud of the highlands, and maybe with sweat dirt and blood in a slush. The decks were scrubbed and sanded to clean the bodily slush from the important positions, but the ship still sank, her guys bubbling full of salt-bloated corpses, on the sturdy edge of five more stolen breaths.

The horses slept the worst of us.

Was that a bear?

I close my eyes. An owl flies into the windshield and everyone screams. I open me eyes. What did I miss? “An owl!”

“I’m sorry, mom,” my sister says. “Oh mom, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“It wasn’t you,” said dad. “It wasn’t you.”

What was going on? Was mom about to break down over this?

A fox ran across the road with two heads. “A two headed fox!”

“It wasn’t two foxes, it was a two headed fox!”

“it had something in its mouth,” said mom. She was right.

That was back in plainsville, where they flooded the valley, the old strip on Sardis, the pizza oven, by the Panola playhouse where they showed the old show. I took my girl there for a parlour and we fucked real fucked all wet and loud while everybody took pictures. We did it up good on a couch in the back of the house and if someone cute came by we’d touch her.