LONG SOUNDS

Saakashvili, Saakashvili my head is pushed into the pillow. Saakashvili is the sleeping a quiet creeping tremor. It is a mantra of vowels showing first the tongue and then the teeth.

I laughed when the man with the puppet said he wanted to hang him from the balls. Saakashvili from the balls! Never! His body will glow and burn from the inside before there are ropes and chairs to kick out from under feet. The body of his wife will light up between her legs, her polonium eggs.

But if the man hangs a noose, you know to push your shoulders up when they start. It's just too hard to do, though. They are back down before you realize and a ripe knot forms in your neck. The cloth is black with your animalness.

Saakashvili you are in love! There is so much metal with your name on it! I cannot sleep without your long sounds petting me! Do not bubble and fester, please.

The passport fee is non-refundable and there is a wild upheaval in my heart. I will straddle the machines that shoot long distance rounds!

Oh, Misha it is the vowels I want.

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