Spring shivers

This is my latest offering for sale NOW at the Lola Ricci Salon in west Atlanta. The proprietress of the establishment is Lisa Moccia, my personal stylist and quite a cool lady. She's an artist with the scissors and has turned her workspace into a mod gallery. Her boutique is on Marietta Street where Howell Mill dead ends. Go there for a great coif and buy some art.

A year's run from the west and I can't escape the dry and the dust which even sours the beer in my mouth. Some afternoons I watch and hear a tall storm rumble along the other side of the street while my lawn continues to crumble. All the rain is somewhere else in the world but things will rotate into the keyhole if I go freestyle. A new ritual is required since I've tried all the ones I know. The house keeps creaking all around me but I can't decipher the message of the wayward ghost that has looked over my shoulder for thirty-seven years. No one seems to hear it but me. Perhaps Dark Star was a bad choice for a soundtrack in these wee hours but this is the time when my thoroughbred is ready to fly around the track. I seek distraction for fear of what might appear in stark focus right now. The room is .....