tangled brambles

lost in the lurches of time, i sit here propping the possibles against the probables. heading to the reckroom, i wish for the back pager to dance like she did the night before. not knowing the last name of the sergeant in arms, i referred to them as dusty, luster and musty. it didn't matter that the time on the meter had run out. the maid was waiting there with high heeled sneakers. the brambles, all tangled in the distant camera vision of the headless sports aficionado. don't pass the buck you stupid schmuck, bring it on home. bring it on home. bring it on home