(for Richard Greenfield)
Before there is catastrophe, cartoon raindrops and a violet umbrella neons. I preheat the oven to jeans and a tank—all wrong—and then too fashionable silk shorts and then I am ready for our safari, designer combat boots for show not wear. Richard brings along a flashlight. We are liquid humans, our metal toys, electric forthcomings: he exhausts my laughter, pounces, he is a wonder: information and winding anecdotes—follow the yellow brick road—cleanly alphabetized first by genre. Agora of stories, luminous tragic. Jokes halt if the clouds come too close with their ebon wares, lightning chasers, teaspoon calories. Together, we are refugees, non belongers, locked exterior stage left on a church porch. We count—quiet now: one tomato two tomato three—and there it is, the thunder, just as the icon oracle warned. In India, some college students engineered antirape lingerie, shock currented at rough pressure. Together, we floresce, watch the storm summer on by.
Photo By: Mr Hicks46
