You're using a random text generator
to fill in memory gaps . . .
How back from elsewhere in blue suede shoes
you loitered to grab caffeine
with a camera obscurist lost in plate tectonics . . .
Misplacing the memo
you practiced night sweats
with a minor leaguer
who had to follow an instruction sheet
for stonermasons . . .
Fast forwarding 40 years you find yourself
among the original cast members
bloating come-ons for moving-up day
in a city of somnambulists . . .
The sky cloudless (which here means nothing) . . .
Memorable hamlets . . . and ink . . .
quid-pro-quo under the skin of a woolly mammoth
mooring across a Russian novel
with a grandmother inviting you in
for voodka and borscht . . .
Your high heels catch-as-catch-can . . .
your hemming and hawing
make it into the finals
with a jump shot paradigm shift
while sniggling softly in tantric rapture . . .
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| Antonio Palmerini |