15.

Park meter where it collects, and roll gray up the stairs. Lines in street. A bicyclist wobbles toward town on the wrong side, and there’s a collection plate out near the holy spring. Surprise me, or at least keep talking. Yes, we met in a dark room to discuss the accident, the one where our bus crushed a parked car along with billions of cells. Remove this trauma, caused by an emergence of dog days. A branch was shoved all the way up into his chest cavity, giving new meaning to bleeding heart. Unblessed by a mad-cow era, I have witnessed someone's vacation at the quartz quarry. And then someone told. What's to prevent the aging process and alcohol from taking speech and twisting? Twisting so hard that surgery's the only option for that bum shoulder, the one that you injured on Route 6 when you slammed against the concrete wall. One world headlight. Except that where politics are concerned, it's all about who's stalking you and what truck they're driving. Lost among the thrumming, and heading for a fall in a forest of ankles. Lost party in a paranoid frame, and singling out certain daguerreotypes for one final Mars Mission. Desperate migration, where ants swarm dead. Smattering of slow heat, as lunch hour rises off steaming mud, which is quite proud of itself for not creating anything. Arts support the generation, suspenders for plainspoken gene pools. The magic mirror refuses to provide aid and comfort to the S-Curve.

16.

Leaps and founds. One concrete idea away from stadium parking, where pork chops signify conservative politics. Tried to guess what's in the shopping bag: a new shirt, some hair gel, and a severed hand. Collected from steal. What is this holiday season, and what are the results of this wave of runaway sea? Up to no good, I guess the charade's over. I can't collect myself. It's a juvenile hobby, and what can these bare walls give back? Outside, the humid cool drives a body wild, or so someone shouted. Can't park, and wouldn't want to upset anyone's brake lights. Backed into mirror image, and even Francis Crick can't prevent the unraveling. I read about how the U. S. Department of Education tries to help, but once upon a time, even horses roamed without saddles. If attention is reduced, add water and sugar. Sense of another wind, which ticks amid the throng. Smell of cheap charcoal and lighter fluid, and I'm in a red state of mind. Let's roast those fundamentals awhile longer, just to hear the high-pitched sizzle. I believe I can scry, or perhaps it’s only indigestion. Unionize the paparazzi. Order video freaks, some with moustaches, to latch onto a Montana hermit. Coverage of tools, and ten thousand Olduvai Gorge revenants tear to the scene. My technology is better than your technology, and ain't my kid the best there's ever been? Talk of the down, and I’m ready to swerve. After relinquishing remote to the neighborhood tomcat, husbands and wives find themselves trapped inside conversations awash in meaning. No more hot showers; no more sweet flowers.