Look for it folks… in the bottom of your tea cups. I am devining tea leaves. A Year, or ear, is at an end and if it all goes back. Recoils like a Red Ryder BB gun into nothingness, a small recoil, as sure as shit, she shot the cans from the top of a bail of hay. Oh, my word! What of all of this now. A tisket and a tasket, holy hell, baby’s brains in a baby basket. The line between truth and fiction, or me and you, heaven and hell, has grown precariously close. I have spit Satan’s hot venom out of my throat tonight, the morning arrives too quick. I made sweet sandwiches of Earthlike proportions for our dinner date. John has no shot. Howard is lurking. Noone says what I want but all try to come close. Maybe by next May.. or November at latest, someone will break through. I am tired beyond tired of fightng fights that I never signed up for…I wouldn’t even make the cut. There’s a SC, and NC, and GA… we have no shot right?! My heart pounds to get out of this place. Tuck tale and run. Make a new dream in some distant land. Forty-eight acres in northern Montana, a license for nudity if that’s what strikes your fancy. Three acres-a-piece for the loving children. If you died in your sleep, I would end it all. Spleen, heart and lungs.