A Distinction In Ribbons

Ron Koppelberger

A Distinction in Ribbons

The veracity of forbidden shame and science, the exception in incomprehensible sin and ownership was in the nature of his seizure. The soil turned dark with the confetti, the ribbon of nourishment, he neglected the bouquet of flowers in the taste of wine. Straight dope, he thought. Slow due to a ribbon of distinct expression.
He rooted and drank, imitating the renown of dogs and doom. He rooted and the totem pole peered in eminent design, in esteem of the ancients and the sleepy name of harvest perfect. He clawed at the ribbon and lunatic circles of rage descended unto the child of lot. A rendezvous with soul, an equity in Champaign and spit, the majesty of the ribbon was in the coil of its charge. The ribbon of wine endeavored to crowd the essence of his morrow with the ancient drama and the stain of a dispassionate secret, the secret proof of his indulgence, blood And wine, whiskey tumblers in etched glass. He stared at the ribbon of blood and laughed in resigned accord, a sip, just a sip for the rain and the summer moon.