February 3, 1981
There's nothing quite like a loser who hates to lose. It's just like the liar who can only tell the truth.
In one door, catch breath, check the time. Out the other, jingling the wind chimes. There is madness in all this rushing that opens your eyes and dazzles you with something more than surprise.
Gripping the rail as your hurtle down the stairs, hat in hand and a bag full of cares. But at least you're sure God is on your side, just like a monkey man, babbling to survive.
Sucking at the salt and picking at the fleas, mesmerised by those arms hanging at your knees. There's only sex and bananas for the children and the wives; sex and bananas when you're babbling to survive.
Rip up all those trees and plant concrete in their place; find a razor to shave that hairy face. File your nails and pack your case but you don't need much to stay alive, just sex and bananas while you're babbling to survive.
Picture: Sik-Life
may isle
CONTENTS
- Columns (60)
- Prose poems (24)
- Songs (14)
Welcome
Welcome to 'A Frample', a confused tangle of columns, prose poems and lyrics. It's not so much a blog as an online folder, lying somewhere between a drawer and the bin.
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1980 Time doesn't matter, there is no clock or calendar, just static scenery. Continuing galleries filled with all the people once k...

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