I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas. My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments. I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill. Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses. A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Richard Fell...
I think that the ankle's not broken
but my drunken, youthful exhuberance is
my confidence in this body is as brittle as my bones
I am now strapped to this computer
yet, I am told by my girlfriend that
we are having friends over for dinner
X-rays tomorrow
my underarms are already sore from the crutches
I feel like Mr. Glass fron Unbreakable.
I feel like Mr. Stupid-Head from October 2005.
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