The Living Daylights, everything’s on the table..Double-0, –Oy!

Artemis..fits the arrow from her quiver, draws back, and –WHOOSH! daylight savings. 0y! Wait! these things takes time you know..days, swallowed in weeks, the heavens, Stellar! roll on in seconds, more..and less! hidden hands wind the clock..Kosmic, –the earth, our magic carpet, carries us up,UP! beyond hills up-on we sit pensively watching..them, the stars! a million eyes spread across the visible heaven wrapping moon’s pretty face in a scarf, Har-har! mask’d by naked oaks, –expressionless beneath celestial’s majesty..while I, laying back on Mr. Pillow, hear the brown leaves’ “KRACKLE!” An acorn falleth, in answer to our ages’ old question, ?What time it is, or, rather: ?Will sun return and wipe out ebony chalkboard’s expansive, sparkling skies’ –>”NIGHTY-NITE!”<– again?obliterating – momentarily – Olympus’s stage lighting and prop’s, and thee di-rec-tor..soaps of the gods? –(un-plugged). Solarblind answers in song, with ripped lyrics, to riffs, scrawled on brilliant whiteboard, flapping, flashing trails, –of the al-pha-bet, deep blue, his chariot’s course high above our hill..in Greek! so we won’t understand, it’s all Greek to me, oy! or maybe a more ancient tongue, than that, even, of Socrates..speaking holy things, mysteries! of human divine origins from God’s heaven, to us, set to melodies formed in ocean’s depths, before it began, spit! rolling ’round on wet sands until it can HAPPEN, the birth-pangs! sending us again to places of unimagined splendour, perusing Plutonian shores’ triple sunsets, the hangman’s tree..head out! released from the mundane affairs of state, days of our lives, winding down, I..can un-der-stand. And so! anyway, what do daylight savings save? Hm? Love..from Russia? Chi-na?? –AND! in any event I prefer not to be a-woke from my dream, here, sole passenger ME! book’d aboard a comet staring out the rear window on a view to a tail, out here, somewhere..Amazing place! Any com’ets? Jacob! what say you? light couple of puffs at the orange-hot embers will fire the logs, finally..warm the feet, —

NO! Dr. 0N0..the apocalypse, –it was all a dream, WHEW!

..Twenty-two after Six! time for the dog to wake up the lady of the house so dad will take her out for her morning WHIZZ! or whatever..about time, –grr, grr! Fetch the shtick, –OY!

where’s my coffee!!!!!!!!!!!

oil ~ ADALBERT TRILLHAASE

Published by scrunchymacscruff

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