eight-pointed buck stumbling in the dark on the side of the roadbank, he's slow-moving for it is autumn
crunching up and down the gravel an eerie hoot-howl wavers in from down the valley of the river through the pines and darkness: pondering the mailbox faeries--they are not large like angels whose wings are SO LouD black cat body out of nowhere, black angel with the trail of her black kitten ghosts wisping behind in the shadows, just out of sight
moon-sliced orange rises over pennsyl-vania state of mind/mine following nick on its heels silverywisp of a paper sun, pinky-disk wraithed with tissue-shreds of fogglers...over the Jersey banks along the Atlantic
and then it's all no good
On WKCR there is a Birdfight 89.9 but there are too many stoneloaded tractor trailers heaving and yawing us all into the pit