Miss the moon
Claw the earth
Eat the dirt
Feed bowls seed
Sleep feld stream
Drink the trees
Fog mirrors sleeve
Dry airs eyes
Mouth walls door
Sniff sinks need
Lick roofs round
Alice asked me once, “what’s three more after you've had four?” I didn't have an answer for her then We’d been drinking and I gave her a ride home Her apartment was just boxes and dead soldiers, empty half-gallons, and glass jars growing green and brown She talked over and over about Mick Jagger and how there were hidden lyrics in the Rolling Stones’ songs, which made me want to go back to the bar and drink more, to understand her, but the bars were closed and there was 15 miles between her apartment and home She guarded her words with rant scratches and scattered barbs, as though she had to obscure her words to hide their handsome lines and rasped clarity Always missed her when she wasn't around
Frank Sauce
- By Jeffrey Bershaw
- from Portland, OR
- I'll try to write as little as possible. I'm a little man with high hopes, pipe dreams and little machines inside that keep me writing.
- More About Frank Sauce
- Painting by Anna Todaro
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