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Maurice Oliver |
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Implicated In A Sigh Dear April, I appreciate the neat little script & double-spaced lines of the two paragraphs you sent. The train of thought just flowed. But your words seem to imply "instant" not "forever". Still, vagueness can be so personal! Anyway, I apologize for being too busy swallowing to recognize your chin scrapping against my red shoes. But remember, I had no way of seeing from point A, my own little world where people still travel by oxcart, to point B, where everyone flushes one big tiolet. Next time, if you allow me one, I'll remember to bring several rolls of paper. And that's a promise. Drenched In June ...with a full evening to dazzle our black eyes we further explore the little room we carry in a jar. There must be buried treasure nearby. So we let one dream drift into the next without much regard & even less passion. Love can make you hungry. So we pull out the oblong menu & imagine a smorgasbord full of flavors. the rest is easy. Beaks evolve from gutter cracks, hooked toes from a witch's brew. We find ourselves at the mercy of some lunatic's whim & all we can do is pretend to be timid. Later, she says, "let's use the rest we have to follow the map drawn on my thumb". From then on things happen slowly, like a print developing in a darkroom tray. Even now, so much remains hazy. i do recall the moonlit beach with rows of lifeguard stands staring blankly away from scarecrows in cornfields miles inland. I remember us wading ankle-deep in a tide that cuts like delicate scalpels. I vaguely remember the warning buoys & the "Dangerous Currents" sign studded along the shore. But the distance between night birds and my free spirit becomes nothing. She tries to restrain me several times, but defiantly I walk on, squawking. |