As a writer dies, stash the cash in calling home. Teaching his parrot to say "Here, Kitty, Kitty," our hero paints laundry into the tomorrow on the street in preparation of your knees and my arms. There is another princess in the making in the last days before we are completely doomed to commit the same mistakes over and again in the next century. I guess that it is better than being poked in the eye with a sharp stick, or living out of a shopping cart with a really long extension cord.

"I live another night in the Technicolor frenzy called Christmas. I saw your toaster flying by my window on the way down to the street. There was a soft landing. She was emptying your cheap suits out just before the kitchenware. Just prop me up with another pill," the downstairs neighbor said as I made my way up the stairs in the dark hallway.

"Pass me another placebo," she says as she takes a long drag off of her cigarette, "I found myself in the next loser’s revolution stuffed in a gin bottle on my way to Bombay City, but that is another story. Gimme your wallet and we will start our own insurrection!"

"She is a bimbo in the parade of your imagination," says the Seer.

From my bed, she carries the blizzard out and set it on the table, like French Silk Pie.

Alex Bell invents phone sex

quite by mistake

"Could you come in here?

I need you."

Bedroom talk

Hook me up

to your verbal orgy

over The Naked Lunch

Gimme my Ben and Jerrys

Ice Cream loves and kisses

coo in my ear

press your voice through the wires

imagine me there

Karma and Dharma

kissing in a tree

k-i-s-s-i-n-g

first came love

then came phone

then came baby in a cyber-carriage.

razee@razee.com

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