Adiabatic CoolingSylvia Chan
Enough. The left hand stuck, and I
didn’t snap. I had been passed first, though they
took my prize and gave back the fumble of Nice-Try, Your-Career’ll-Be-Over. If you
try this again. Which goes back to how appropriate it is to love someone like
your father. My ex speaks Hakka, which makes him 1/90 million worldwide. Nothing
compared to the 890 million Mandarin utterers, but he’s a gem all the time. So I talk
about sideman Bay Area’s Edo Castro. He’s no AABA Every-Breath-You-Take,
but his middle 8 keeps the one of them involved. I help this one, and when the
gleam of October’s Daylight saves the free run of darkness, he
returns. You can have what you want, he says, and hands Denis Johnson’s
Angels. As I do work in my surroundings, I double back and reach
over. The one of them says he’ll break
the date with the other, and after the genital slack of That-Was-Wrong, we stop the time.
When we stop all acid jazz becomes soft. I had been trying to get soul into my
looped beats. You’d been helped, still you miss. Deployed, you dry out young.
When you snap but I go first. Like absolute 0’s the experience has the scald of a
demand of already hot, enough. Each whiff ‘d do anything for you
If the air cools below the dew point.
Pardon’d close with a cadence on the tonic. This was set down in secret so unhidden or
half-there it pushes back up and up and defers the sweep down.
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