Prose Poem: Sunset

Sunset
The late sky is a gate which opens is open at the hour of closing. Summer says it is so. In the middle of a tiny spot a white light is in bright and comes before the blackening. A. an orange balloon and B. not dangerous and never bursting only an explosion of beautiful, beautiful. Go amber, go gold, a football, a goal landed in the sky. Suppose a good seat is mango juice, a front seat with toes dipped, beach in rubbed purr, ooh ooh ooh leather soles gone and a whole time of ladies simple pleasure smiles toes heels calves sales ladies little sales big ladies little feet satin smooth not saddles of mutton. The day again in a bolster, a blessing, warm not hot and another show of sunset shutting in twenty-four hours.