The After-Glow Principle

My brain's on a brier, It's like what a kid says.
Distance disassembles.

grinning snouts and thirst of the eye,
poisoned with language.

I'm starting to sound to much like Nietzshe,
Translated by Walter.


Sorry Oliva,
Fred

P.S. The hot dogs are defrosting in the sink.
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Next time Fred comes over he won't be getting more than a snack or two. He probably will want to see a specific part of my DVD collection. There won't be any awkward silences. We will probably talk in rhyme.

'I want to eat cheese while kneeling on my knees.'

'There's a hair in my underwear, it's not fair.'

'Well, then take them off and dance like Sid and Marty Croft.'

'Oh and then it won't be a nuisance and we can watch a "State of Druggachusets."'

Fred doesn't come over very often anymore. I think it's because I got a little too friendly once. The weirdest part was I told myself I was being "fred-ly." For some reason, that made it okay.
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Dearest Oliva,



I don't have anything hard enough to beat it with, and my hands would be like shit slopping all over the place !
I've written a poem.

Withered gray and green.
I have become old already.
I saw the morning grow weary.
Laughter and wisdom groveling back like mosquitoes.
Longing for hearts.
The rest - are always the most.



You've moved and always do,
Fred