Midget cows and mental squirrels go swirling by my head smoke from a thousand cigarettes curls around my glass. Make a list (brain to wrist): new strings, no strings attached. Was it magic that made her disappear so fast Or a set of invisible wings? Manic cows, flying squirrels leave me whirling Irish bars showing hurling blonde girls in leather and lace surround and astound face to face, all over town mad dogs and Englishmen fleeing the pound leaping leopards crouch in the lounge lion’s head roaring eagles soaring river otters diving and twirling: please, bartender, one more round. We went looking for sin double and counting and found a blanket of snow in its stead layers mounting was that a win, it’s hard to know time to go to bed.
Reason for writing:
The Big Apple never disappoints . . . .
Birth sign: Capricorn
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