Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Bread

Clone: Down right just snatching mate.

Imposter: Thanks.

Clone: You ever let me wear your shoes, I show you how to dance real.

Imposter: Just the same, thanks, not interested in flashin' a flaw.

Clone: Not a flaw if you know you're bad.

Imposter: Strange advice, let's get back inside, I burn bad.

Clone: You're pink.

Imposter: I already knew that. I can feel it.

Clone: I never burn.

Imposter: You coming in or not?

Clone: I think I'll take off a bit down the street, maybe I'll swing back in awhile for supper.

Imposter: Knock, this door will be locked.

Clone: I hear ya mate.

Clone: No doorbell?

Imposter: No doorbell, not in this city.

Clone: Right mate, a ding ding ring ring will bust a train of thought.

Imposter: I like that you understand, means your head is in the game.

Clone: The true bread is not from the ground.

1 comment:

jnkw said...

Simplicité de forme; la répétition est l'étude du sentiment.