I see yellow spot ontology the razzle sunrays of elephantitic love-knots dazzling over my raspberry burst kisses in infinitudes of plenteous silence. When we see the L love of life-light Lincoln Center lollipops we will know our ship has sailed. When we were dancing naked the beautiful sunrays came in to kill us, silently. We were on the roof and the wine flowed like Jesus. But he wasn’t there; he’d gone. The pigeons had flown. And all we could see was our hands opening empty. It was the end of the world, it all descended into chaos. Like entropy, in the jazz music blues riff, the blues room, the smoky bar-filled London suburb American jazz club where we ate our destinies in our smoky cigarette smoke-ring blowtorches. Peanuts and ping-pong beer bottle blast-off. Your were there, you took it all. It ate me too, you know, your peanuts and your blues. We put our lips to the ground and simply breathed. We breathed. It was enough.

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