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*J I L T E D*

the bulb burns dull and bored
lacquer and Formica
faded mirror and ghosts

clouds etched beyond the
broken trellis tops
the stale taste of a soda pop

Taste the spicey sweat of
Mid October
fringe collar deeds

the thick plate glass
jewelled with humidity
runs bleed

Our cornucopia
I call
the dark reciever wish

press earnest mouths
down static wells
through copper labryinth city hell

you say


and an order hits the floor
in the kitchen
and the waitress says.."Fuck!"

Editing stage: 


You say what you see, and though i don't always get your meaning in every verse. I read and re-read your work. This one i let the visions lead. Terrific write, terrific ending ending. Regards Roscoe..

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

or texting.. for most.

I came from a time when people would
have tiffs or be jilted by the telephone
there would be an exchange
going on the pause the reactions..
Now its just like reading the news!!

I dont think that changes things at all
in any way... I dont ache for telephones
in restaurants..Now they are just where
the heavy traffic flow is..

there is something nice about small
portable devices and speakerphones
but there was something to be said
about the old handsets..the static
interferance and hiss and echo..
lately though I notice in some hand
helds this is coming back...
a literal "echo to the past"

except I talk to very few now on the

this whole work is fiction
but it describes a scene
the only truth was in the
plate falling in the kitchen
.. that was just an ordinary
day in an evening of sitting
at a bar drinking watching
a hockey game..and I dont
like hockey.. I liked the brunette

Thank you Roscoe

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