Southern and Easter

Come alone or come along with the stringy velvet but bereft of a chew, for you... and having left here to hike and Bill on his Bike and his Wife, it’s Jane’s tea time at tea time with what Boston Time-Party, without wine or beer or any liquor, I haven’t had a hiccup in many months, couch-side facing front, sipping my slippery-cup of what but water?  Melissa went to Salter and I dig it sprinkled on the Cob, the Coz company, liquidated immediately when turned in papers, the movers and the shakers—selling custom-colors and additives—on ECM Plastics, Inc. that who, LUCKY ME, worth a small fortune because of my Dad(dy) who him I see—along with my Mom—picking up my habit of attending Church most-every Sunday Morning, but the new Minister, I’ve only spoken with him briefly, when Blessing me, when him and “Hymn” I wish to hum a humble hum at The Charlton Federated Church—when those were “The Days” I would drink a beer after, a like a like a reward, a hooked fish reeled in, on the win (Holy Shit!) want a biscuit for the Trimmed up middle-section of a middle-weight boxer, and me in briefs usually black or a shirted owner (a shitty ordered order) coming clean with any violent actuality in anything to be seen—donate a S-pleen—S-pen with gel from Bic—ohhhhh when the roses come danced in a bunch, I take a late lunch, yeah me having slept all night and all morning, into the Afternoon to perfect my craft, a Belarusian attack of coughing, that sore-throat hacking at Phlegm in the throat, sick and moping, at home, while the Janitor is at the Universe-ity sweeping swindled crumbs off of the floor, whatmore- he (it’s usually a “he”…) picks up the students’ waste on the floor—or throw-up the tossed cookies from Quest, a High Protein snack, they came with Amazon and their delivered orientation with “Averte” and my thin belly, showered up- yeah I don’t sweat in the least here—as I’ve nixed my time on the treadmills, they’re unfortunately not working—one of the hugely obese fat fucks here, broke 2 treadmills and only an elliptical stepper is left—who broke 2 treadmills?—obviously, one of the fatty full of lard, these sods walking with so much effort, slip-shoeing it, every day wearing sweatpants—like the resident girl here, sleeping in a chair outside my door—is she keeping tabs on me?—oh well I don’t care in the least because she’s a mother to kids, I DON’T WANT TO BE WITH ANY MOTHERS!