Horse's Heart Full of Dramadharma / by Reckon

Soon, typewriter, me grow larger so either ecstasy will do, as well as the elusive and often neglected Door Number 3: a purple-shaded orgasm, the bright light of which fell upon The Mouth. We were all in the poem, it appears, and also some kind of horseshoe.

What were you going to tell me?

What was I going to say?

Oh, yes, the hand-painted sign at Rome Laundry:

“Ladies, leave your clothes here

and spend the afternoon having a good time.”

And, like I was saying, we must preserve our natural racehorses. Envisage palimpsest and nothing less. Be a stuttering melody gesticulating. Let’s wash off our masks and demonstrate our cheekbones, tally tree rings in California, TX. Ring-tree sing-sing analog – bark and coat: Firewall and lemon; peppermint stick and laser guided heat-seeking missile; the voyage of the Sagittal & Lambdoid Junction, antipode Aboriginal.

“Triangle noises are miracles,” the Intercom Girl muttered. “I mean…they’re selling fake fun, ya know.”

The headlines were “Tiger Mauls Roy at Mirage: Show Closed Indefinitely” or “Tiger Attacks Illusionist.”