I like hearing her sandals shuffle gracefully along the sandy cattail-riddled path to the shoreline, and the sparkle in her eye when she first sees the surf rolling toward her. What I don’t like is that boyfriend of hers, Jacko. He is a big lumbering oaf with more muscles than brains. He is always kicking sand in my face on their way by. She gives me a pi And I'm like: "What the fuck?" and she's like: "math" so I turn to her boyfriend "Jacko" and flex on him with my math skills. Then I took her home and f'ed his bitch like I did his -tory, composition and geography. I was more than just a student. I was a lover of education. I was the kind of scholar that could make you holler! I caressed my books like they were funk trunk hooks. I have no idea what that means, but I like the way it sounds…so, it continues. Now, back to being more than a student of history, composition, and geography - I'm a breath artist. I don't breathe like normal people, I breathe in patterns and rhythms, otherwise I forget how to breathe at all. Composition is my essence, my identity, and what I strive for. But I must keep my blanket nearby, for I lose my mind when I can't smell the sweet scent of dry milk on that old pice of cloth. So I went about cutting a square of it off so I could place it in my jean pocket for when I travel from home. Being a toddler in the body of a 55 year old white male can be hard, people … usual folks (not folks who can quote F. Scott Fitzgerald’s story The Curious Case of Benjamin Button) …ill-informed backwaters folks whose brains are age 3 and bodies age 55. Like me. Say, do you like checkers? Can we play checkers now?



You must be logged in to comment

You can Log in now or Sign up for a new account