XXVIII.

Stars and funny things, skies lit up for a minute, satellites; datebooks cramming night life entourages in the distant compounding features, gallon sizes drafted a skin area a massive comparative journey, laughing off the funniness. A trivial answer to no questions. Papers on graphic studies avoided exhausts or commons street sayings that couldn't be marked on TV for lack of discrimination. Bare problems to confront biased faces to correlate in reference to something said. A brief geriatric stint that worked out for the sake of keeping the moments in fine focus. Bogey chases were power mites, lasers grafted over the clouds to tomb up the saturated reality. There was none. Fever throats made it impossible to speak. Daring exploits, courage, in a sense for egomania, a hacker would sleep; pious knowledge gaining the understanding the silly mixtures that form it in a hand, between the palms straight lines. Good luck features, predominate the band as to give  hope. A lurid hope. The correlations seemed remote. Giving quick sustenance for short periods of time. The laser shined through the clouds, almost as if to be sudden. Sunken trees.

 

        Seeping liquids -- faucets turned open to let pour the contents. The hands that turned it were a stranger's. It poured into a basin cup, only until there was no more to pass through. An empty lacquered bowl. Cross, cross the X's and hand them to me, the dictates froze their huge delphi boxes perniciously shaking a can of lead over an open penetrating heat. 

RIVER BED   101

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