From the verses of Shakespeare to the violence of Football, a soft hand on the nape of my neck to a rim's hard rattle after a dunk, the mute of Miles to the rhymes of Rakim, Hershey's chocolate to a garlic peppered, cedar-planked salmon, Joel Dias-Porter's thoughts scatter like grains of black sand across a wind-blown beach.
Friday, April 04, 2008
On the Calamity of Cobalt Sphericals
THE TRUE MEANING OF THE BLUES (according to Neckbone Nelson)
Is to be alone and horny as a nine-headed rhinoceros.
With arthritis in your left hand and rheumatism in your right.
1 comment:
that is cold...
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