Conversation in tweed

The problem of the sentence that unmakes itself is that where does this get you? (not you, asshole, me). This always is how goes it in my head then out the other head. Too many heads in this town. Who cares? Jesus cares. He drives a Cadillac up and down my street looking for orphans, or those that appear to be orphans. Just stop a minute and listen. that’s all he says. Poor bastard. Look, either way it’s not going to work. One of these bastards is gonna get you (by you I mean you, asshole). Think not of what you do, but do what you do: carry a big sentence, wear that sentence where you think best. Always come back later on, when we are not so busy. Don’t you see all these people waiting in line? of course you don’t. Now go ahead and translate this sentence:

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One thought on “Conversation in tweed

  1. I like your prose poems…I like your writing…thanks for the link to my blog…send me some prose poems sometimes for my blog…should you feel so inclined…bill

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