Life With The Captain
So there’s this sign that’s folded in the center, or something like that … and I’m walking down the street and this dude is following me talking about how much they’ve been yelling. So I give him a light and continue on my merry way. Rainy lilacs and a feint scent of leather permeate my being in the dim lighting of the blazing sun, and the creature crawls up and down my better half. My companion is lured away by the will-o’-the-wisp. Prudence has become primal.
Later that night there are dancing little sprites by a hearth in the cookie slicing hovel. So merry, so merry, so merry are we. I, the playa’, know just what’s goin’ ooonnnn, and that sprite is from the ghetto. Supper becomes our dirty ground which we rat-tat-tat on with bells tied to our shoes, making the crops grow and the fires blaze deep within the eyes of our hearts … or was it the hearts of our eyes? Perhaps both?
Consciousness lost, conscienceness lost, motion like three litres of high octane petrol in a bottle on a ship at sea with the music of the bayou nights creaking and chittering and chattering against the silence of the blaring “old school.” I wish my girlfriend was hot like me.
Brothers, brothers, brothers … brotherhood at last. Unbeknowest, lacking no doubt, brothers at last, though unbeknownt.