The Lemon and The Egg

INTERNET please note RETEMA

and the mystic wonder that are SHIPS and shiphouses.
that is all.
__________________________________________

looks like august is almost here again, already

LEAVE NO PRISONERS
in this hippie crypt

at this time of day – Lemon having her mornafternoon coffee on the porch
facing the street
3 school buses drop off Mayonnaise children

Egg walks, shell naked, into the day
Exposed like all styrofoam souls
Like lives controlled by cotton

Little Egg
giving Lemon blisters
a stranger soulmate guided by false feelings of reincarnation
Little Egg Head
licked by sandpaper qat tongues

‘only it was francis picabia’s poetry that got me throught a spring of illness,’ said Lemon.
‘and 10 000 nosebleeds.’ Egg’s memory was minutely dissecting the moments of frantic speechless phone calls.
‘in bed.  on the bus.  all around you.’

it was WHITE and YELLOW and DARK GREEN
the mysteriousest subject is always green
and oozing coolness
‘i would eat slime,’ said Lemon. ‘if it was Lime Slime.’
‘you can’t find that shit on the radio anymore.’ sneered Egg.  ‘BULLSHIT, that’s what.’
‘pipe down one or two or eight.’
‘you fill me with contempt.’
‘nonsense! you are filled with WHITE and YELLOW.’
‘nonsense is the fourth dimension of literature.’
Lemon gets up – throws her mug at the street below.  the pieces shattering at the feet of the Mayonnaise.

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