A Blur Or Vague

by Maurice Oliver



The whole thing is iffy if you ask me.

And to be honest, I can't imagine the
purple pills will be of any help either.
It'll still always be night, always be day.
No such thing as tomorrow. I accept that
part. I object to your making us kiss in
public. The whole notion seems paler than
squinty heartbeats & leaves a bitter after
taste. For one thing, the photographs only
show a portion of the galloping horse as it
rubs against the pole. You've deliberately
cut off our greased ankles. I feel people
should have the right to see the whole
picture. Otherwise, their skis might get
attached to something unruly and lord
knows there's enough of us massive & flat
as a wooden raft. Anyway, there's plenty
of cowboy hats but few galoshes if you
know what I mean. Personally, I was hoping
for fried chicken. But I'd settle for some
Barry White if that's all you've got. Either
way, these pictures make Orange County look
much hotter than it really is. The vast
rolling hills could give the wrong impression
to some six-shooter in a motel room in Wyoming.