This Heavenly Thing Crisscrossed That Last Good Thing

To laugh as loud and strong as one can laugh is about the most heavenly thing I can think of. That day you knocked on my door in that clown nose and we took the bus to the beach and threw french fries to the sea gulls. Every cloud that drifted past reminded us of people we once knew, and so we talked about the good old days as these present bad days fluttered by like drunken butterflies. That feeling you get when you’ve had too much and everybody around you is talking too loudly, and you fantasize about being somewhere far away. But once you get there you realize it’s nothing like the brochure. I always skipped to the end of the book anyway. Pathways in your brain are like electrical highways are like long meandering trails, like a tail of a platypus. Like duck and other fowl. With the radio waves glistening. Surgical precision… how the magic dissects my heart. Top down, radio beating out country songs and despair. My pair of jeans still hanging out on the line. Her wine glass with the last sip gently pooled in it. I love you like a long ago thing. Walking tippy-toe and bumbling. Like a stumbling summer fling. A mannequin in a magazine. Dropped on the doorstep of a dormant doorman. Like the hole of a doughnut, a whole in time. Sprinkled lightly with nightly dreams. Cut it four ways and we can all have a quarter.


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