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.