This Poem was Submitted By: David S Harewood On Date: 2000-09-16 14:44:19 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Toto II

The woodsman rusts beside a Midwestern highway; she oils his rust-spot for the odd time, hopes    that his thigh can be livable. Jazzmen rescue her on condition that she recognize genius as glorified insanity.  And as her silver shoes bewitch a hot-air baloon & sail home to Greenwich & she taps her heels along concrete & walks to caffeinated or alcoholic rhythms; the man in the hat uses her as a blanket-- she "wouldn't let him go further than my shirt, so nothing happened," right?-- so she calls him next  evening & proposes i track him to Omaha where his player troupe idolizes pre-chocolate Brando, lock their jaws into Pickerey County's plains, embed their nails in wrapped hills and howl "put 'em up!" before  commerce claims them IOBK. She groans, clicks, wonders didn't the fat one order a diet? "There! That stick figure at 251 says it's too warm  and you can't break even/$250! and you can't get outta the game are those my shoes? He got away" and she thinks she hears the poppies  in her drinks & tells me  "I've got another Lincoln" (click)     ! So she starts with her first blink, scratches my ear, lets me lap the wax from her eyes as the road to Kansas becomes a mattress.

Copyright © September 2000 David S Harewood

Additional Notes:
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