Ludicrous notes for a paper chest, wallet on leather bound instances worn out with the casual burn to an indifference in norms and societal fixtures. Where class rules not and a station apparent brings the clear vision of blue and yellow to make green when brought together. Standing there at the counter, walking away with but a chance to show and it's that split second of recognition bringing in the kindred, albeit of a strange action.
Classy notions nevertheless. Holding on double down with a straight jacket to a four of a kind flush. Milking the appearance of absence to all that it annoys and it's a banking wave from one end to the other. Crashes of disbelief smash into the bench and the hands all float upward, high into the ceiling with incredulous gasps.
One is enough. Two is faintly possible. Hint of there being more, the kind of seed which sets off dynamite lines of explosion in rapid detonations.
One is enough. Two? Hardly. Evidence, however, is in the proof. Where there is nothing but the net of the folds from blue swimmers toward the pineapples and the opera singers in the bunch.
One folds inside the notes from others. The other in the clear plastic of a similar change. And both stand proud in defiance of the cow hide and crocodile pelts.
Sunday, 1 April 2007
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Elemunk scrambles the loose connections bouncing about the mind of Soon Van.
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