... Gwendoline Karas
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late to love when astrid died, set free of labeled left overs decorated doors for every holiday and old woman smell in bed, he counted pine cones never picked them up. never mowed. he slept till three, was free to miss her from a distance. found a note she wrote for shopping morning of her stroke said 'Pledge'- he cried not only in trees knew a man once come upon you slow as cheshire: first, not there, then there, but it was gradual. ladies loved it. trouble was he always left the same way: first no word, then hard one, finally breeze come though the back door. there he was, and entertaining ever body skirted with that fade technique all he left was fuzz here on the rug rubbed from my favorite suede pants- back side looks like him now: thin, then thinner. me, i got abraded too- but the ride was worth it no locksmith needed banging my head off somebody else's door, I got a bump big as chicago but got no intro into what they know- I think you have to be invited; peek when they are open pain will do it often rain like I remember the day when old man thompson had a dog hit. I could see way back to second grade through that rained that day too, I smelled wet leaf grief is green with wet dog scent same at seven as at sixty when the door no matter how tight shut you push it, swings both ways Main Page
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