an intermittent fool

In the time it takes to ruin a
perfectly good night,
I spoke of

tomatoes. Leaving what was meant
in my throat.

Coughing, chocking on thoughts,
while leaning on the wrong

hole in the yard. Tomatoes.
----
I saw the present to late-
just when the nail

was coming,
going to meet its coffin
closing shut,

in order to talk less-I
gave it the slip.

Out ran quacks not heard

in echo. No-one knows why,
but the damage was done.
----
Onion flavored fingers makes
for onion flavored beer.

Its the smell, I think,
but i

do that to much these days.

Thinking aloud. I should
turn up the volume

of nature so that what escapes
these lips, blends.

when we met it rained

when we met it rained. a hot
mist fell
and covered its tracks; so the

paper wouldn't know.

i believed, in secret, it was just a
fog, moving south

as it does, angled-playing rain.

but i could not find the right
time to tell, the

difference and then
it stopped. rather, we stopped
calling it

luck. calling it how it was,
when blinded by the mist and

the feeling you get when touching.

if that's what it was? niceties
not spoken, but

released was broken with the fog.
rain drenched silhouettes...
a guise in comment

of the mind. but being optimistic
i'll too say it rained that day.