unfashionable stranger...
unfashionable to question to ponder to wander to wonder about... cliche you say... unfashionable undesirable... before then... hard thinking it now but little time here has passed a lifetime ago - collecting dust and you there stitching the final letters of my epitaph on that pillowcase reserved especially for me - my tomb...
but not so fast...
...it was to be placed over my head during the midnight hours and inside the soft velvet casing small crudely worded instructions suggested that i should peek out of the thoughtfully crafted carefully cutout eyeholes that were so strategically placed around the backside - near the zipper
i thought then i think then about thoughts i'd once thought sitting in the cold wind on the end of that freshly sharpened pier - that man made peninsula piercing the heart of lake ontario with pinpoint accuracy- cloudy days nose running chills emanating from choppy white caps - grey day dark daylight - miss that life i never lived
hmmm. funny that. improvised thoughts inching about like dirt worms - here now - empty earth highways bike trails sidewalks conveyer belt stairs - here now - rousseau chains tied down dragged down to the bottom of that murky squirm - but what choice, really, in the end?
i get thinking some more and your words come to mind...
it's unfashionable...
unfashionable...
don't you see...
thinking about your existence is unfashionable...
i mean, it's a post-war mentality... (as though the war actually ended back then - sixty or six hundred or six thousand years ago)...
and somewhere in your words somewhere in your desperation i hear a cell door closing i hear keys rattling about and the sound of a heavy padlock being slammed shut fills my drums - your fingers turn yellow tense squeezing those rusty bars as the lights fade to black
my thoughts.
but not so fast...
...it was to be placed over my head during the midnight hours and inside the soft velvet casing small crudely worded instructions suggested that i should peek out of the thoughtfully crafted carefully cutout eyeholes that were so strategically placed around the backside - near the zipper
i thought then i think then about thoughts i'd once thought sitting in the cold wind on the end of that freshly sharpened pier - that man made peninsula piercing the heart of lake ontario with pinpoint accuracy- cloudy days nose running chills emanating from choppy white caps - grey day dark daylight - miss that life i never lived
hmmm. funny that. improvised thoughts inching about like dirt worms - here now - empty earth highways bike trails sidewalks conveyer belt stairs - here now - rousseau chains tied down dragged down to the bottom of that murky squirm - but what choice, really, in the end?
i get thinking some more and your words come to mind...
it's unfashionable...
unfashionable...
don't you see...
thinking about your existence is unfashionable...
i mean, it's a post-war mentality... (as though the war actually ended back then - sixty or six hundred or six thousand years ago)...
and somewhere in your words somewhere in your desperation i hear a cell door closing i hear keys rattling about and the sound of a heavy padlock being slammed shut fills my drums - your fingers turn yellow tense squeezing those rusty bars as the lights fade to black
my thoughts.
posted by jack at 12:39 AM
6 Comments:
your work is more and more riddled with despair. who are you? what troubles you?
no. really. you have me wrong. lol. you should identify yourself if you want to be my therapist, lol. it's just an entry, that's all.
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