16 Oct

i was down one man.
a pawn.
looked under everything.
over anything.
over easy even.
gone.
poof.
nobody around
except my obese, orange cat
lying under the glass table on which the board rested
down one man.
“where’s the pawn Spookowski?”
the cat shifted its four bellies and closed her eyes.
WHERE’S THE GODDAMNED PAWN SPOOKOWSKI?

it’s all right.
cowgirls may get the blues
but
even fish suffer from insomnia.

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4 Responses to “”

  1. Anonymous 17/10/2007 at 2:24 AM #

    Ah, Spukhafte Fernwirkung. I now downgrade you from ‘quitter’ to ‘slacker’. An excellent place to be.

    L7

  2. slyboots2 17/10/2007 at 3:09 AM #

    They keep trying to close down the bar where Robbins hung out whilst writing that and his other books. It is a dive. With quite a pedigree.

  3. (S)wine, Inc. 17/10/2007 at 10:49 AM #

    l7, indeed.
    sly, i believe it…the dive thing.

  4. dr zombieswan 17/10/2007 at 12:08 PM #

    I do like slackers. I myself strive to be one. But that seems a contradiction. Hmmm.

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