. . . squatting on an ottomanWOKEUP
he could have been more gentle with himself
but
it
was him afterall
anif he couldnt abuse
himself then he certainly couldnt abuse others
tit for tat he wished his nickname were Tat for Patric rather than
Butch
Butch Really
Where did that come from
he caught
his parents at once in the kitchen talking
they looked
puzzled
that wasnt encouraging
Well Butch Whered tha come from
his
mother cleared her voicehis father spoke
When you were born . . you looked like a Butch, a tough cuss no nonsense.
But. his mother spoke
We wouldn’t have that on your birth
certificate, Patric.
An Patric not ending with a K Not
clever
his father laughed
We weren’t
trying to be clever. Patric’s was a
corner tavern in the old neighbourhood.
Bucktown.
Yes.
When no one knew where your grandfather was he could usually be found
there, throwing darts, shooting pool, making a few buckskeeping things interesting,
nothing serious. Your grandfather was amiable if he was anything.
And decorated
Yes. Decorated. Respected. Kept his word.
A really good man. his mother said Like your father.
Apple doesnt fall far from the
tree
Or a peach. his father laughed Cuz, Patric, you’re a real peach. he laughed more heartilyhis mother joining
in a real couple of characters
squatting on an ottoman was hissed
in a very strange voice in his dream hafexpected to find a serpent coiled to strikeADIOS
not ever had a door hit him in the ass
on the way out or snakebit
easier ways to wake
not ejected
he was out capital O
capital
U
capital T OUTwasnt
stickinround to find out what emitted that soundsentence didnt sound appealing
and the dream preceding it he didnt
touch it whenever he was in a labyrinthnatural
or constructed he let himself be played figured
one day itll be revealed why labyrinths mazes were so prolific
had an
inkling
revealed
death at its enddying in his sleep
foreverdreaming
AM, Saturday,
7 10. 23
1122, Saturday
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