Message From Two

Zig. Zag.
Criss. Cross.
Fuck the time,
yet hear the bells.

You type too slow;
waiting, waiting.

Hello Danielle.
Says I tonight.
Says I any night.
HA!

Can I leave now?
No more left.

Thy Lord, Thy Prankster

Hold light as ray's first
stretching yawn
can succumb to us.
Please stop
clogging the leak.
It only adds to misery,
to such a blue sidewalk
that never sees such brightness.

"Hmm," says I.
What radial blurs.

On forth the strut,
such promenade,
as said in France.
Only there is no beach here,
as there was in past text.
Just some blue heavy concrete,
on a blue heavy world.
(How depressing.)

"Oh well," says I.
Just pretend to twirl.

What more pranks?
Which more laughs?
I chuckle quite a bit myself,
for the windows to my right
introduce my own misery,
in their own distorted way.

"Anything else?" says I.
For the twirl turns to dance.