His broken harmonica bantered on and on beneath rotting yellow teeth, calling out the evergreen heart, spruced and misled, tapering off until the rhino with his ponderous steps bellows and the measuring tape whips back into place. A mouthful of sand and cranberry and then in a blinking white splintering moment, the belly is shorn and the ashen silhouettes play in the long shadowed eve of the world. Thunder, thunder, then lightning. The tongue tip slit in the spit-chiseled candy cane grooves with a drop of Mars on the brink, the bluff, the drink, the scuff, the stuff of husky ladies. They pound the pavement and shake the stars, kick their combat boots across the mountains and swallow the moon for supper. A snap of the marker, and thus it begins – a comedy for the common man, an epic for the epicurean, a mystery for those whose brains are vaulted, lock and key. And if you put it in your mouth, it tastes like wax and backyard sunsets on the grill.
Hello, I’m Jesse.
