cycling [2010]

for my wife

"The responsibility of the artist consists

in perfecting his work so that it may

become attractively disinteresting."

-- John Cage

[A dozen snotty relationships have suffered similar sinus troubles, and have arrived at the same swollen conclusion: Sometimes smelling isn't everything that it is.]

But, what is...

(1)  Reproaching a slotted stink, the master cheerleader emptied the evening into a sad canteen, and then took to hammering her tropic chimes with the necessary fervor.  The echoes of this particular paradise could be heard throughout the cavity, and they entertained the steady ears, as well.  Soon, flies began to gather around the warmth of this performance, as if it were stuffed fruit, and a significant squirrel, broken from the elusive mind of a poem, sprawled outside the resonating nostrils.  This was the time for all of the devoted to hear.

...nonsense, and what is... 

(2)  The principal speaker entered and immediately raised the question: How long will the other endowment be kept alive?  And, in a blizzard of keen indication, the successfully betrayed sniffer responded: Occasionally.

...a love poem?

(3)  I looked first to the poem which was my dearest; second to the music of the conductor's trumpeter; and, finally, to the finely polished metronome.  Then, after blowing my nose, a cadence was assumed.

This is called Cycling.

[It is a fantastic stench.]