Herbie Mann Comin' Home

Saturday, September 6, 2008


It's smothering.

Like it must be when one's drowning.

A mountain filling the mouth, bacterial dirt clogging the interstices between each tooth, the gag reflex prevented by no further room for the throat to do but recoil in order to disgorge, but in the recoiling only to make room for more silt, root matter, fungi, that ever-intrudes.

Being waffled against firm chainlink as the hooligan crowd rages in their hundred toward your exit.

Like it must be when a vast sea storms and water hits like corner brick and the breath waits its patient count to 200 and quickened 400 and itself vacuums its fill of flotsam, phyloplancton, and fine salt.

Is power.

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