You'd think she smoked
The way those words rolled
Over her corrosive tongue.

Smoke would swirl out like that,
In bitter, caustic rings,
Hanging low between us

Too bad a patch can't cure her anger,
Ease the burning in her lungs,
Calm the demand for one more drag.

Too bad she can't just snub it out,
Like she snubbed me out
Hard against the glass all amber

Too bad.

She burns me even now with
The smoldering tip of her words,
But I ooze ink from the wound
All over her new party dress.

Don't you just like the sun? I do.

Speaking of the homeless, Kat has written of a recent exchange with a homeless person up there in Calgary. On the SLC front, Rolling Jimmy, the single shod, wear-a-heavy-coat-in-one-hundred-degree-weather homeless guy who found a wheel chair sometime last year and was hell bent on continually rolling back and forth, back and forth, in front of my house has apparently disappeared. R.J. is a very methodical person, you see: he continually uses the same route at exactly the same time of day, with specific places he rolls back and forth, back and forth, back and forth in front of. We have tried to talk to him in the past, but have been met with wild-eyed mumbling and bizarre hand gestures. None of my neighbors have seen him for at least a week.

Ok, now I have that damn techno smack song they used to play on the Girls Gone Wild informercial stuck in my noggin. Talk about a bee sting to the pineal gland.

Signify, I say. Signify. Actually I was going to write no more than that, since I have a load of "home work" to engage in, but what the hell. It is "home work" not because it is work, per se, but I am going to be home to do it and it is akin to work but I don't get paid for it. I would make it train work, but I don't have access to this here computing beast and I need that to complete it. It is not exactly drudgery this so-called work, but there are other things worth doing. It is one of those stay inside nights anyway, since it is threatening to snow. Maybe i will go over that overwrought speculation found below one more time to procrastinate even more.

I can categorize these posts, you know. I've just been too much of a pointless lazy-ass to write a template for them. In any case, I have officially categorized this entry in "nothing," "profligate," and "death" categories. Don't worry, this was far easier for me to write than it was for you to read. My brain is in no fit state to do the home work I am supposed to be a working on. Isn't it great when words go awry? I think Fox is thinking of making a special: "When good words go bad." Snoop Dogg is also thinking of making "Words Gone Wild." There are bound to be a lot of dangling modifiers in that one.

On the other hand (or foot if you are an unfortunate victim of a freak childhood washing machine accident) I had one good idea today, and I'm not going to tell you what it is.

You'd think she'd smoked
The way those words rolled
Over her cherry-red tongue.

Smoke would swirl out like that,
In bitter, caustic rings,
Hanging low between us

Too bad a patch can't cure her anger,
Easing the burning in her lungs,
Calming the desire for one more drag.

Too bad she can't just snub it out,
Like she snubbed me out
Hard against the glass all amber

Too bad.

She burns me even now with
That cherry-red tongue, 
But I ooze ink all over her 
New party dress.

You'd think she'd smoked
the way those words rolled
over her cherry-red tongue.

Smoke would swirl out like that
in bitter, caustic rings.
Too bad a patch can't cure her anger.

Too bad she can't just snub it out
Like she snubbed me out hard against
The glass all amber against beer rings

She burns me even now with
That cherry-red tongue 
But I ooze ink on her 
New party dress.