You're so creative with your reviews. Of what other people do. How satisfying that must be for you. . Am I a Christian?. Are you a Jew?. Did you kill my Lord?.
Old friend. Your horse is ready to ride. When morning comes. . From this church town. Where damning rumors drip. From holy tongues. . It won't go away.
One, two, three, four. . All the way to grandma's house I stayed on the narrow path. But my brother wandered off deep into the woods. Bitten twice by rattle snakes, tangled up in poison oak.
The volunteers were tired. Heads were hanging low. The news had spoiled their appetite. For stuffing envelopes. . Twelve points was an awful lot to be down in the polls.
I could hear the church bells ringing. They pealed aloud Your praise. The member's faces were smiling. With their hands out stretched to shake. . It's true they did not move me.
The impact. The aftershave. The European cigarettes. The taxi. The alcohol. That lingers on your breath. The lipstick. The street lamp. The woolen overcoat.