'twas mauve with pastel pink highlights
like rays from his forehead
behind the wheel of his mercury phase sedan
performing the rites of
when he spies the ormos isternia where he has spent 6 pleasurable days
so, oozing sex, he sallies out behind his ray bans
didn't shave today, but no matter
all grown up now, putting those traumatic events behind, like a rosary trailing his wake
was it legal? he asked.
no longer, but no matter, few spies here.
spies the mini skirted flocks of
“I am probably obliged to say something rife with double entendre, some piquant comment designed to snare me one-a them ripe juicy beauties”
rolls down the window in his behemoth, takes a breath as if to speak but says nothing, finally. But no matter, den pirasi, there was no car, no flock of girl, only fevered daydreaming.
Floating dreamily through another day of holiday all caught up in the dark recesses of he own mind, follows that wiliam wisp train of thought whither it leadeth.
he did that monster mash, mashed it good, or so he remembers, not so very clearly
takes longer and longer for his computer to render the massive fruits of his head. so taking a ride on the coast to soothe he mind.
the sea was all whipped up into little sheep formations.
What was it again? How from
But wait! Yes, was spiny plants
designed by some demi-urgos
half-assed creator, not unlike the venal makers of worlds in some of
Engorged, throbbing in the morning mist, priapic and massively stupid
Clamoring for attention. Slowly attempts to awaken her begin, furtive and sly. Casually brush the back of the hand just there, tweak this node of nerves, twist that. Pause to gather a handful of the silken country that is her thigh, ecstatic manicured lawn, milky ski slope, the palm pauses a while, eating the riot of nerve impulses that travel up the arm, up the neck, lasering their way into the desire centers of the brain, back again and down to the flesh obelisk, the stele beast who can never sleep. And through it all, the knowledge that when she finally takes it in her hand, all systems are go, we have clearance for takeoff and may begin in earnest. Nagging doubt, does she really want someone humping the small of her back before she has had time to take her first conscious breath of the day?
inserted slowly but insistently
sliding up and in, up and in
licks off the salt crystals accumulated there on her white skin.
phone rings, but they ignore it
and the blessed virgin mama hovers up in the actinic sky
woven seamlessly into the horizon
brilliant white light, sheets of molten silver undulating there.
wind whipping the waves over the melting sea
like sentient lace, like white hot filigree over the ruined columns of the ancient port
whipped to a frenzy by the wind
blasts of sand abrading his face. Lunching upon saganaki and tomatoes, fried cheese that is, tomatoes and bread, a few olives scattered about on the plate. Shuffling café proprietor plods about, shouts down the phone at someone, one of those sodden fat man shirts open over his protruding hirsute belly minds this café at the end of the world, tiny nook next to a church next to the sea with about three tables. And the scene that unfolds before us so transcendent, so incandescent, I say
“this is the best café on earth right now.” And she might have agreed.
And the boat from
long long time ago
when the flies of August were fat, Babis and Xristos found him on their way down to the harbor for a game of tavli and a glass of Mastika liqueur. They had called him Jacopo at first for 'twas written on his wrist when they found him floating face down in the town water trough. Babis, the impetuous one, turned him over and he spluttered and choked, spray rising from his lips like a crystal chandelier in the white-hot sun.
He was wearing a sombrero, sandals, purple poncho and a space helmet, or, perhaps he was wearing spandex tights colored camembert and aubergine, a Calvin Klein scarf with Sponge Bob printed motif tied at the neck and back in halter fashion, green day-glo birkenstock sandals, a crimson fedora, enormous Chanel mirror sunglasses and a gold ankle bracelet. 400 piercings were scattered randomly over his tapioca-colored body, one of which seemed to be in his very eyeball.
Eternal and strange, silent as the rows of noble columns weathered by the incessant winds, he lay there on his back staring up at the actinic blue sky.nothing stirs, a heavy silence hangs suspended over the scene like a muslin tarpaulin. flies waltz in the air, coupling frenetically with the desperate pizzazz of beings who know that the swatter may land at any time.
(dialog between babis and xristos)
(fragment ends here.........)
Tinos by Blaine L. Reininger is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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