Taking It on the Lam by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Page 23

Beified at the edge. Flavors will depart. You turn up. You turn down. The white shawl sadly looks; ashamed for the crucifixion of her sphere. Eight billion sheep just placate. Two one cry, too late. Specks of honesty cannot reach. She’d flooshey say it was wonder of her own. Az men git dem tayvl a hor, vil er di gantse bord. Billions are daily deluded. Only compound interest could be placed on the children. I get up, I get down. To what am I slave? No, he sees the femlens twins. His eyes blinded, he feels his way. In what day does he come of age? I get up. I get

Taking It on the Lam Page 24

down. Aladdin’s rusted compass blade split the seasons. Water poured. Spaces between our houses were boned. Music wed the colors to the visions. The red sky smashed the two. Space focussed form. Chirruping wind cast its spell of forgotten communal gathering upstairs. Open to space; who wheeled and directed, exposing each side? Piercing orbs smirked gossip, beholding itself only. Mounted we see peace in the vale and the ghostly phases of the past, through roads manifesting complete sun. When whole, you get down.”

There was a semblance of a lull interrupted by a short click-click sound which seemed to emanate from somewhere around the drive shaft. Bitty said; “Your home is the second on the left after this through street.”

I was too shocked to say anything, but “Yes.” I then realized that if Bitty was working as a fed agent, he would know that, and my shock disappeared.

Taking It on the Lam