[“Another drink?” Janis asks. She has the bottle of tequila in her hand.
“Did you see her (ROM Random)?“
“Who?” Asks Janis.
“Her?”
She shakes her head, no.
“Never mind.” Seven answers.]
Summer fog exhales breath and wing,
wanders around a feather coat call
outside, out of range, out of ear.
Caw to commune content conflict,
degauss deception and decompose.
Divine dereliction demonstrates
division of an evanescent wisp.
Re-done queue recurse
ghost apparition approximate
blinks and incredulity ensnare
existent for fond impression.
(Jade) Metaphor, I know why I come
here hear Horatio hide in the silence of
noise as myths run their course.
[“And, yes.” He offers his glass. Sweat forms on his brow. “Yes.”]
Sweat sings the fog swampy,
and yes Tuesday, invisible,
miss-tagged indifference
ignore curiosity’s cabal,
ignorance and miss judgment,
smooth cold, clammy cognition
recognition rendezvous consort.
Complete constant consequence
Of bits bit and bots expense;
existential along straight lines.
In this bar, no one notices much,
on the slope slide slick cement
and slothful bricks beguile
bastion of a pre Modern comma,
long consumed in it’s consequence
Concentric characters and tales,
trilogies triangulate over and over
above and below rendezvous repeat.
Nightshade, never more flippant
as jugglers juggle, writers write
and painters paint presumption’s,
penumbra ghost, both ghastly and
grotesque, beatific and beautiful,
her memory glides through conscious-
-ness content (past tense).
[Janis pours a full measure plus into Seven’s jigger, and taps the bottles neck against its top lip, a ripple rolls close to the edge.]
Keith Echo 