Friday, May 27, 2011
two squinting painted eyes
looking solemn on a leathery face.
this knight of the golden age
has a 20 gallon bucket of a hat
atop his slicked-back coif.
what thoughts hide under there?
with muscular thighs squeezing the stomach,
of a well-groomed,
with his pink silk shirt,
and his leather vest
and his neckerchief to one side,
and one fist asserting dismay
while grazing the hip-pocket
of his leather pants,
he is a manly figure.
Tickle your toes. . .
Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...