gyoza express

Posted on July 1, 2009


i’m removing the bread and what i have now is the dough. it’s shaped like a heart without a purpose, an edge without center, my dream’s nightmarish core. must take a sip of coffee, the sapful spunk, then must move on: my road is not thorny, that’s for Jesus people, my road is smooth the surface specious & nogood fumes effluence from it. above the road a sulky sky curves like a crazy racer on the hockenheim ring. the air is full of pretzels. they are served by busty bakerswomen & strapping bakerstuds & baked of the soil of eden. they’re promises dangling from the tree of wisdom & i’m trying to reach them. but i can’t because nobody’s watching me.

i can’t because nobody’s watching me. because to perform to show my tricks to jump through the burning hoop at highest speed i need an audience larger than my own. i shake my long hair. i call for war. peace be with you. i am tolstoy now trying the ramen from the japanese restaurant on old curfew street the place where they smile at you with their naturally narrow eyes wide open & the prices aren’t bad at all either. i’m eve and i don’t know the name for eve in japanese. but i know the prices of apples everywhere.

i sit there & the sun shines out of my arse as in the stories of ancient heroines they who can do no wrong because they were born on the good side of the world, singing my song a brahmany kite, a herald of the better the stronger life. i sit there & i do no harm when a man suddenly runs into my knee which has been smelling street freedom & perhaps peeked out a bit, my bad. he runs into my knee, my knee retracts, the man goes up in flames, right there and then right next to my gyoza my to die for delicious dumplings. i throw him a dumpling & he catches it with his teeth. the people applaud. he’s not just a bully he’s a performer, a street god, he can balance burning bars with his pectorals, what a sygfryd.

the surprise success has made him mild-mannered and now we snog & share the good beer on a good day & he buys me more gyoza & i let my knee trust him again. good man. he whips out his mobile, his cellular lifeline & makes a call, barking. whazzup, i ask & he says i just quit my job because how can the going ever get better than this, he is in tears now, and i tear up too & the japanese waiters from up the counter are nodding while their black black hair bobs up and down & they keep the gyoza coming & the sake. my man. my love dumpling. who lives with me at the center of the world.

© 2009 finnegan flawnt

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Posted in: rootedinlove