Sunday, February 8, 2009

Ring Ring Ring




It is the nocturnal mouse exploring my kitchen pantry. It is the fruit fly crash landing on my face. It is the cherry pie pimple delivered to my pore nostril neighborhood.

When his telephone rings, that particular moment and I are expected to wait and we do, we wait in an impatient silent brood while the fat lady sings This is the Song that Never Ends.

Then the moment goes missing and I do not know where to find it.

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