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--- M A R K   P A R S O N S

The pause mechanism on my VCR having run out of the time allotted to view any single frame before being left with the electric blue not unlike the environment a certain rock star-turned-actor had to speak his lines and gesture against the animated interior of a barn where, thighs parallel to the hay-sprinkled floor, ass jutting out to catch the falling back of loosened snow before shaking it off, he looked over his shoulder not at me yanking the pin-striped mattress from under her whom I didn't want, sleepy as I was, my later resonance a vulgar impossibility, much less theses present precious tintinnabulations, remembering the quote that rear-ended me (I recall it now) while I watched you unwrap your sandwich in the sun to bite at the marketing ploy known as half-a-footlong and set it down on the concrete.

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