Sing'ing

Was a wave in the stoop that made a jilt then to a jangle, when the olds' came and pleaded roller-coaster hills. Smiles, my smiles hopped a crawl on the hairs on eager neck to tumble down my crown to brow through furry face. Dancing like a 40’s musical with tight slacks and awkward shoes but my breeze to this a sorbet, clean puddle on a busy street with props and all. A six figure shootout with a backyard ending, please-ing symphony prestige. What was it Piccadilly, a word or sound? Perhaps a curve or the shade'ed disguised as erotic silhouette. These from sound or vision that hounds out the Bop; an American boy on the fills from proud to the pleasant. The universe screaming that landfills aren’t for lover but we seem to crawl our night’s from end to end with remnants and odor wondering why our days become the gaze of curious’er and curious’er-Unfulfilled. But now, on the pavement, bumble’d and swerving like bees in the ghetto a waltz has on to the most of comfort and thrilled. No longer peasants grabbing for broken radios and almost used up pied pans but a gorgeous Frankenstein built and spilt onto the novel night air; an apparition that only a lover or mother could love...
And I am Sing’ing.

The Parade is the Thing

St. Patty's Day Parade in Cincinnati.

Kilts, pipes, drums, beers and....

Shriners!!!!

Ran into old friends and had pints.

Not a bad day at all!!!