A little ragtime ditty I wrote when I bought this here piano you’re listening to in the vid.

The sugar from the cotton candy had formed a thin film on his teeth. He ran his tongue over them, stopping at the recently loosed incisor to wiggle it – not quite ready.

…thinks to himself, “Slow down.”

Quickly and gracefully, I descended the steps and took my place at my new husband’s side. From here on I would be his support. I would keep him standing in place of the leg lost in the war.

Dead summer Indiana nights spent sipping tea
in any girl’s apartment after listening to highway hum

From rough video to full treatment, I give you the ‘final’ version of “Holler in the Alley”.

…gets down in it, goes right up the middle, in between and through it walking a straight line all the way.

Stealing into town, he heard the music blocks before he saw the gathered crowd, a vivacious throng waiting for the doors to swing open. There she was, on the edge. A smoke in her hand and red ribbon twisted in her hair. Just like last time.

In the wind today, the trees tossed their heads in pure abandon,
shaking their sex all over the cars in my neighborhood.

’67. 289 cubic inch V8. 3 speed. 17 years old, driving from FL to MS on US 90. This is your raison d’être.

…can’t say for sure where it is he’s supposed to be going. He’s in no hurry to get there though, and he’s not too worried about it.

The people are like plaster and brick towers, rising toward the blistering heat of the sun, as he, the dark, cool water, twists unnoticed below them.

There in the driveway,
where Ethan Reid etched
his muddy name in wet cement

A monochrome man in the pantone color swatch of life.