ISSUE: Spring 2012
The fact of failure is one kind of song I like. Oh me, oh my, I’m a fool for you baby
is another.
And now there is the being out of touch, the fray of my tether.
Fine. I want nothing when they snuff the daylights out. A little jam. A little band
with saxophone.
And let them have a party to sew up my lips. That smokey groove is on.
Having a body has meant the world to me. Watching it didst. I wore it through
my travels.
God bless people. Nearly every one of them. Ah, the hell with it. And God bless
that one, too.
