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The Jellyman Stroll Taps in like a telephonelinesman swinging on the steel-lined pikes listening to stranger conversations of white-lies blowing rain-bowed rings of electricity like dirty kisses Leaving silhouetted patterns of wet lipstick angels romancing smudged by nicotine stained nails white handkerchief folds conceal the evidence of the perfect life for any anyman with a moustache Collecting cigarette butts bottle cap tops shards of zippers tattered yesterday’s lonely hearts club news a sun-warmed hubcap projects three shimmering halos a few miles above the dilapidated corner coffeeshop promised in the small print of the prescription Doing the jellyman stroll with one leg seven feet extended two thumbs stuck in the moist fruity filling four fingers guarding the steaming caffeinated cup of life over-spilling on the sidewalk painting an ink blot hop-scotch Sweet aftertaste of icing drips from the edge of his cheek blackberry spots where the lapel should be dashes of powered sugar chocolate streaks like bowties to accentuate the lines of a century-old pinstripe suit Looking always eight inches and six degrees off a passing gaze a dungbeetle rolls squirrel shit into the mystery emerging from the proverbs of a japanese greasetrap a hissing cooling kettle cries from somewhere as a aquarian girl lifts her skirt to the slip Wipes the stickiness across his face to abstract a chinese cherry blush hands gripping a hot rod in his pocket calculating the precise instance mid-day like clockwork erect stiletto statues fresh-fleshed becoming available and easily discarded within the hour Turning through pages on a parkbench beside himself unknowingly twittering his black hole eyes embroidering homages of infallible heroes and villains barely- dressed in filthy magazines stories only he can understand |
Additional Notes:
You may know someone like this, or know someone like this you'd rather not know.
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