Sketch: Volume 45, Issue 3
i walk along the north pier just as i had so many summers before skipping over cement cracks and watching iron holes spout jets of liquid like an oily blue whale...
"Okay, who's got 'em? Frankie?" Frankie opened up the big grocery sack he was holding and turned it over on the ground. Eight or nine reddish-brown tomatoes came tumbling out, their skins dry and shriveled. A couple were downright rotten...
With our alarm-clock continually crescendoing A rhythmic silent-whirr-silent-whirr, Kicked from a bedpost without ceremony Goofy with time after slapping face down to the tile, It has lost track of all comings and goings while Slight zephyrs gone cool take advantage, Of arching delight to lick-lick over limbs, Laughing at the moist excitement Brought about together...