I was gonna riff on some really cool shit
that my pal Ray wrote that I finally read
tonight, and then I thought well hell that
shit was too tight to let me in, so I better
have a Plan B to begin, and that was when
I remembered those jets filled with cheese,
queso, para mi compis, if you pleeeze, and
then I thought, what has this Midwestern
miscreant wrought, that I should be thinking
about aeroplanes filled with dairy, and I
tell you now it was damned well, downright
scary, thinkin about those flying bastards
filled with cow spooge, it was enough to
almost make me lose my grip on whatever
I had a grip on, oh, wait, baby, that was
you; sorry, my bad, since you are the best
that I ever have had, and that is no hyperbole,
that is just True to you, out of me; and so I
am not at all sure where this is going, but
I do know that what I will be showing to you,
in just four days, is nothing like some kind
of haze, it will be the portrait of future days.
September 19, 2009, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.