by billy forbes '77
On the phone with whom
wonders i on the front porch, you
wave through your picture
window---wait a minute,
patience and another wave
glad to wait, signal
me in---we'll be seeing
each other soon. Am i doing this right?
And i'm still wondering about that poet... billy forbes must have been publisht somewheres. Mean=while, i promised dremes of Muscalunges[?] That is, how many times do you dream of cannibalistic cat=fish? I did! And then my hands were consumed of fire=ants off the half-remaining organ exposed catfish loser. The ferric acid of said Ants was curtailed only by ice=water! The bones of my knuckles were bloody yet pure. Never mind, [i tell myself], it's just a dreme...
I wake 2 realise such things & they rarely happen. But the 'pooter calls me to organise differential oppositional tasks---And then i collapse at last 2 dreme again?! My way=ward=ness and Confusion know no ending. But my hair was cut by an especial asian girl yesterday, and i will arrife @ myself soon with your help. Oh, yeah~~the green=ghost still operates very well. If there be more dreams[sic] tomorro, i'd be the first to Know...perhaps. And painting, i promise 4 i am
In static Revery, an ant=ridden Slack smooches