Tell a scoundrel, three or four times a day, that he is the pink of probity, and you make him at least the perfection of "respectability" in good earnest. On the other hand, accuse an honorable man, too petinaciously, of being a villain, and you fill him with a perverse ambition to show you that you are not altogether in the wrong.
To tell you the truth, I'm relieved that the Van Ripers are not coming. He's telling the same jokes he told twenty years ago and she dyes her hair. I think it's a shrimp pink now.
You know, that stuff about pink elephants, that's the bunk. It's little animals. Little tiny turkeys in straw hats. Midget monkeys coming through the keyholes.
..she repeats overheard conversations at dirty tables, customers politely pretend not to hear the gossip-large confessions of littler lives pasted Hopper-like to diner windows' glaring reflections without error there where the only self-reflecting going on is the scribbler in the pink booth perversely taking it all in, thinking, feeling, penning it down in notebooks looking for himself in those echoes with your stolen shades on, eternally cool in his capacity to tolerate what you call 'the great densities' - immense absurdities de le quotidian...
...The writer's eye observes, swerves to miss the Mexican kid chasing the ball into Same Old Street, notes it with caffeine amphetamine-laced, and black ink traces the visionary company of love in stubbed cigarettes, sputum maps coughed and spat.
Once they came on a maple in a glade,
Standing alone with smooth arms lifted up,
And every leaf of foliage she'd worn
Laid scarlet and pale pink about her feet.
Over the shoulders of April's winter trees..Mother Earth has thrown a pink shawl as light as the
morning breeze.. but two moons later it was tossed for her favorite: a sari of jade
of many green shades
today she prefers to wear the pink glasses
though she knows the raw reality
of brutal mankind and of pure jealousy
till today she has only the darkest glasses....
even a snake loves a warm bed,
my pillow for its head, found a skin shed
on a flower-patterned pillow case where
fleecy lambs forever pink silently bleat
as the cloth grows thin from head wear
dream wear because I was once a sleeping man
Red Rose, White Rose
White rose of York
Red of Lancaster
Seeing only each
other's thorns
did cause disaster.
But centuries
onward flow
Now in peace
side by side
they grow
and their pink children
wed purple asters.
I regret self pity.
I'd reject it if I could but it adheres,
last resort of old coots born honestly
into it no matter the copious Mercurochrome baths,
the smelling salts obviating the needed nipple.
The stippled trout I nightly catch,
pink insides turned out by blue blade
kept beneath the pillow,
baits me with the riddle
again and again.
Something about a stand of trees,
a man carving some bark,
what breath is for.
Today the Market reports a run on Mercurochrome.
Birth goes on.
I am for rebirth.
If you give me your hands
I will give you my heart
We will fly together
Even without sky
Sky is small for our love
Our love can create another world
With a pink sky
If you give me your heart
I will give you my life
We will live in dream
Without any bad thing
Close your eyes
Is your heart hot?
Is your heart calm?
Is your heart worry?
Is your heart all of them together?
Tell me yes
Just tell me yes
It is mean you fell in love with me
A pure love
And it is mean that Im fortunate
If you give me your hands
I will give you my heart
We will fly together
Even without sky
Sky is small for our love
Our love can create another world
With a pink sky
If you give me your heart
I will give you my life
We will live in dream
Without any bad thing
Close your eyes
Is your heart hot?
Is your heart calm?
Is your heart worry?
Is your heart all of them together?
Tell me yes
Just tell me yes
It is mean you fell in love with me
A pure love
And it is mean that Im fortunate
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