11:34PM
mysterious bolonge: i smell your familiar odor. and the musk of men with blue collars, off-white collars, black hoodies, and skirts (yes, skirts).
11:35PM
sometimes prophets come on board
11:35PM
through windows frosted by taggers, ads and grime the angels can be seen dancing--many wearing blindfolds. i spy on them! and judge. kind one day, cruel the next.
11:42PM
i sit in the aisle seat and rest my head on the aluminum rail that leads up to the ceiling. journeying through all of time, and los angeles, asleep. I ride the bus.
Wow. I wonder if he wrote it, and if he did, what inspired that. Did he write that on the spot, on a bus? Is he on drugs right now? Would something like that have to be written only during an altered state of mind? Not necessarily. I wonder what made me privy to such a series of messages...all the same, I'm happy he did share with me.
I want to ask, but not right now. I can barely keep my eyes open.
I miss taking mass transit. I love my car, but it makes me sad I scratch him up and make him work so hard...
2 comments:
"I love my car, but it makes me sad I scratch him up and make him work so hard..."
you treat your car like i treat my men. ;)
Oh, my...you unintentionally brush men against the bushes?
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