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Okay, we’re in the jump of it, now, better sleep on it or it’ll make itself up for you, hired to loan a rolled-up carpet to a bunch of hollering nannies, and the brought get made too, snooping on a wire-rope salesman who won’t tell you the truth about what’s fresher than any of his heirs like that Wurlitzer you put on hold at the piano warehouse when the fashion or fancy happened to take your hat and hold it for you too, buried in the leaves, just another wash, day-late and busted in the crankiest call-waiting atmosphere in the area code, because I’ve got no time for your metaphors with all of this precious cargo on board, dirty Hallmark cards and pecans in the oven, and a girl with blueberry hair named Sammy Dam is cutting up garnishes for tonight’s cocktail crowd, and I’m in love with her gams, and the moon’s gone and short-circuited, as the x-mas lights glow all red and white, their tiny bulbs like barbs on the tree branches, the thumb-wrestling leaves going ape-shit in wild gusts, knuckle-and-elbow stumpy trunks, as I circle the whole affair stuck in the real true melancholy of a Monday night, thinking about how the worst possible pain you can imagine is the pain that you are currently in, and me, I like her for all the reasons that she probably hates, when the faucet’s hot is colder than its cold, and I’m pining for all the piano music that’s been lost in my sleep, a tougher love it’s hard to imagine than the one I got stuck with, all corrupt and loose, shaky knees and an unraveling heart like eating spaghetti with just a spoon, but her, they couldn’t keep her out of the movies if they tried, boys, she needs a dimmer switch for the light in her eyes, and jonquils for the marrying kind in the populist cavalcade’s drawing-room light, with all the hubris of an ophicleide, toss the baby in the bathtub gin, I’m putting the moves on a leg-less mannequin who’s wearing a pith helmet in the window of a dry cleaners, and the evening wears on, and nobody’s calling my place home, just splendid, these envious needs of conveyance, so let’s drink up, go street-sign hunting in the fog, it’s martini weather again, besides it’s been too long since we’ve been for a drive, and I’ve never quite gotten over the shock of being born.

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