The (SAID) Balloon Sails On
This is how he finished it:
A big bulky parcel dropped into
the ocean of mail and left to float. . . .
Would it ever come back?
And how could he face it --
perhaps so changed from its creator's intent
the very bones no longer sacrosanct.
And blessed be the fruit of TRS-80
And blessed be pseudo-poetry.
So this is how he made his living:
It's time for a bell or something.
Ting-a-ling ling ling.
Scratch Poppy --
the cat with furniture claws.
Down Buttons --
sheared poodle jumps the hoop.
Ah the chance associations
and misappropriated enervations
All boiling down to too many wasted intentions.
Page 7 (Black Book: Light Heart)
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