Faded Houses Green

Reading Ulysses in Montana #670

Heavy hands make empty works of Shakespeare and Marlowe (with and without the “e”), capitalized and uninspired eyes with civilized perspectives not included.

Imbued with the kind of ink made by kind hands, Holly hitched a ride to the edge of town and, standing on the corner, she lifted the hood and tinkered with the solenoid and said try it now. Click. Zoom. Room for improvement notwithoutstanding, the next room down the hall was free for some jai alai practice, the fronton of her heart being occupied a dozen more days for extensive remodel. Or was it the way the red settled into black into nothing? Nothing would do for an hour each day, but the flowers of followers consumed their tidy toast in due course. Overdue, of course.

Horses for courses and chicks with fleas were fleeing the falling skies–the weltering skies.