I. Edgar's Great Great Grandson.
All of this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental".
I get out back when green gets going don't even mind the cold. The winter mix was just here fixed us we were bitter cold. We were stuck for better or very cold. When you dive in clear water and it's a spring with water was just a piece of ice awhile ago. We persevered with all of it creating warmth with sticks. That's what I call my body. Sticks attached to hips. As well to her such a jewel in her prime. Call her furnace really. She does the pilot light. She sticks to hips on Sundays. We go to church tonight. I think she's feeling guilty by Thursday afternoon. It gets chilly by the bye and in the evening too. Friday night is her day off and Saturday is mine. I like to bowl the little balls remind me of a party. I once was in a big ball roll went south real fast one time. A finger stuck into the hole. I said that never again will I wrestle a big ball. So Sunday is our day of rest, apologies, etc. She tells me I'm a polymorph. I tell her she loves weed. She tells me I'm an innocent. I tell her thank you very much. She is so sweet sometimes. We are all stretched out by Sundays. Placated, polished primed. Love to see the preacher. Pretend the devil's inside. Come out, come out Red Rover. LIke that more boogie style. When we were little Walt, the Disney came into the box we lived in. Near the road that's gone. Not my wife she lived away around the corner up. Never thought about her much her diapers once blew up. I am quite her elder and she is quite my mirth. Together we remember all the things we should be doing here on earth. When I need a hip replaced she comes and gives me hers. She tells me it's a bother. I tell her do I care? Not much. So thank you all for coming. I saw a new blog today. It's called Slingshot Letters. Photos from way back. And some recent poetry. That's my brother's place. I am a writing baby. Babies are writing too. Anybody below sixty is a baby far as I know. Sunday she is sorrowful because she has been so bad but I say forgiveness and she says I'm innocent or more like maybe five. But then she starts laughing on Sunday night and we have delightful yearnings. Sticks picks up some tricks. The lord is still in heaven and I am just in mine. Slingshot coming over. Says don't write just breathe like you are an astronaut who eats a lot of green cheese. We go on about the way she treats me. Like she's God. Everything is God so maybe but I doubt she is. More like the devil maybe and her note says volunteer. She gets to laughing sometime as I just said we do. It really is a party. I do body doubles too. It's all about the evening when the sky gets dark. Edgar Allen's holiday Jan the 19th when he was supposedly born. He whispers to me sometimes. "Oh that boy is done."
II. Sticks Speaks
Sticks and Trixie up in a tree trying to fly because we love a stiff breeze. Slingshot is trying to sleep but he's not really there yet. Last night in his kickback chair he was "resting" and looked up. There was a ghost standing there and smiling. It was a woman ghost he could tell but she was really old and wrinkled up. This woke him up and he was shook up for awhile. He had never seen a ghost in his life. We're talking four score almost and no ghosts! He did dream there was a croc in his window when he was just a snapper. A little boy who couldn't stand and look out that window. So how did he see it? Trixie says he is my brother and so he belongs to the polymorph family of one celled creatures. And she is here to make sure all the little cells are vaxxed somehow. I don't understand the depths of that way of thought. He tries to write poetry but he don't read at all. He's got all these books for crown molding mostly. They keep the cracks in his room covered. He's attached to them in a way Gramps times 3 would understand. Whatever will be. Trixie is sleeping now. It's only Wednesday and she's already feeling guilty like it was Friday night. Nice thought Trix. Keep it up. The devil dawns in her when the moon comes up. The sun and his reflection. Moon in the morning will be a true dawning. It is not a friend of the sun. And she is no friend of it either. She doesn't have any friends. She goes out Friday night. That's her day on leave she says. She's learning about how to run a business and we are going to make a lot of money with her in there pitching and britching like a cane of sugar beating a pole. Like a stick in the fire that has true desire. Like Gramps 3 would say something... way past my line of fire. Can't even imagine. I'll get back about that. Trixie's still sleeping and all is well here in the Dell. Sling feeling better his head's in a Bing. Brought to you by his need to arise and be with good guys. And girls too. And avoid horror movies. He's a pussy for sure. A six toed cat like Hem used to have. He thinks I, his bro Sticks, could be Hem, but he's the one for that role. He says no it's too dangerous and then there's the way Hem went out. He's not for that. I'm like we don't know! Let's see! He's in love with Anne Sexton too. That takes a lot of his energy for this subject. Trixie thinks he's afraid of it. Well, yea. Duh. Our fam is complicated. We've got other ones too that are going to arrive for a party soon. Bro will most likely hide out unless I make him show for it. We keep things going to the limit my side of the fam. It's a six toed affair as far as we know. Gotta rest and get ready for work. I'm self-employed. I work in the home for Trixie. She's the CEO of the fam. We get along. Later will be better we always say. Crypto highway with the mutton button. We will arrive. My brother is my true north star.
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