aunt jemima in a bottle

Thursday, sliding into the homestretch, I find is a good day to link together my elongated thoughts. All the time I spent thinking them; all the work spinning them out past the point of what seemed a decent and natural death. It’s not Wednesday and not Sunday. I might be tired but it’s too early to give up. I link them together like a paper chain of dolls. Here’s the drawn-out thought about dangerous dogs with bad masters. The poetry in numbers. The plan I nursed about making a deserved prank phone call: Is your refrigerator running? / Do you have Prince Albert in a can? / The police got your number. . . Like Grandpa Decker used to say when Nana passed him with a plate of too-chewy beef, potatoes, gravy and peas – “I’ll mush it all up together. It’s all going to the same place.”


song of the day: the godfather theme, acoustic