I am as old as my tongue.
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I am much older than my teeth.
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Been neighbors for years but nevertheless not a word was shared.
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Just eyes through the blinds.
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Venetian.
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Odds.
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Evens.
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The flop read
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'Good thing you bet the farm.
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Good thing you bet it all!
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Those bastards are always bluffing blind no matter what's dealt, drawn, or thrown down.'
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Where do all thoughts go to lay themselves down for good?
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Perhaps they will rot with the body or float up to the sky by the tail of the soul.
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Auto pilot, take 'em there by surprise!
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Go out in a blaze, a blaze of glory.
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Leave without a trace.
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Leave without a flaw.
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We'll catch up with those thoughts when we catch up with ourselves,
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As we catch up with yourselves catching up with each other.
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Well blow me down, blow me back down to earth.
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As fast as half-way between go and stop!
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Throw your mama from the train or my mom will shoot
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-----------------
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Odds > Evens
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| Folly |
