cherry stones                                                                                                                        

slipped nimbly round and round in his mouth over his tongue and ventured to the back of his throat as if they going to jump

                                                   but they didnt

                                                                              like uncommitted suicides waiting for someone 

to push them over the edge so they werent to blame  though they wanted it could taste it

were at the edge of an orgasm for their annihilation

he didnt get it

hard to follow

if ya walk all the way down to the exit door  yank aside the heavy curtain under the dull ochre illuminated lettering   E  X  I  T   are you really going to wait for someone to start a fire inside the theatre before you plundered its door

                                                                         its locked

the only way out was going through it

and there aint a soul outside

who is gonna pull it open for ya

                                                            the stones danced to the back of his throat

took cursive quickpeeks  and then reversed field  he spit them out between his tinted teeth onto 

the ground  into an askew trashcan standing feet away  or divvied them into a game of spitting where his only rivals would be manly

                                                                         of course they would

its what men do

pissing matches

strap pompous honor and dignity to games of chance or those of unlikely inordinate skills

                                                                                             he knew his accuracy was uncanny

some might deem it  skill

yet no one in his experience  not a fuckin soul  dabbled  or could even take a seat at the table beside him

it leaned up on its elbows at the rail  right up there with the reams and reams of useless information he marvelously garnered  his brain gobbing them up  stuffing them away

to hold for some innocuous rare moment when he could spirit them forth  

                                                                                                                        and be doubted

--   Ya got a big mouth  Yawanna put some money on that 

--   The fuck yah                                                                                                                               

and then  Laughing  walking away  his pocket fuller than when he had left the house

the bare shit of his xperience told him

like the stones

if

            provided care  they could grow and become saplings trees and bear cerise fruit

and these

faltering suicides 

                              too  provided care  could grow and become saplings and trees  

forbear the Game-Tilt and their inebriated neardeath

sparkling fantasies

                                                                                         EndGame is inevitable

turn another card   watch the fuckin sun rise

                                                                                Yamiwanna put some money on it

who knows

what ya might Know

2140,  Sunday,  6  7. 14