The edge of a scab is as the myth of love.
Proverbs are open to interpretation and cocktails.
Be frightened by the face of one.
A proverb is sap and goop,
a tongue in sorghum molasses,
a bar-back’s groan,
a frozen Coke,
factory-vat sour mash.
Hear the pattern of matching shirts,
a Cleveland chauffeur,
O’Henry of the O’Henrys!
Do not be frightened of anything.
Smile with your mouth full!
Fondiberate if you can!
A turkey gobbles loudly
because a bad apple bit the dust
and some bowls are made of spalted maple.
You will be glad you are not going to
end up as a peach fart, Buddy Boy.
That long hound of lies,
her walk is as svelte as a woodchuck.
I carry myself around town in a lemon rind.
Sasquatch is not his personal pet.
She will not be tortured any longer.
There will be no congratulation line at the wedding.
Lousy nuptials…
tie the cans to the curb!
It’s always partridge around here.
Your eyes kick back.
The scab rips.