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Breakfast with Bessie

by Fishpaw | Updated: 09.02.2011 |

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a short meditation from the zen garden.

The fish ate the trico, the cow saw it, it happened.

They were sleeping as I parked next to the bridge.  But not for long.  Their big brown eyes met mine before the water did.  Fog-puffing snouts an inch from the hot wire that kept them from me.  

Just act casual…
“Hi Bessie, its Trico time. The beers are still cold from last night.”

Swallows smash the pulsating cloud.  

Just downstream from the bridge, past the wire, the Browns rise.  Always past the wire.  
Upstream now, too.  Was that one near where the fly could be?  

© Pink Floyd. Photographer Storm Thorgerson, Design by Hipgnosis© Pink Floyd. Photographer Storm Thorgerson, Design by Hipgnosis


Look Bessie, see it? I can’t.  Bessie?

Spinning in the Sun’s warmth.  It’s almost done.  And Bessies gone to the barn.  
Time for breakfast, I pop the cap.

 

This was written under the influence of pretzels, Webbers spicy brown mean Mr. Mustard and Southern Tier 2xIPA. Fishpaw is a drunken, babbling brook of beat metaphors and aphorisms.  We look forward to his delusional and lucid moments as he captures them on imaginary paper.