Jdavel
I came from Manhattan oh bout twenty years ago. Quit my job when the floor manager told me my feet smell, has no right! Hopped on two wheels and left every town I crossed behind until I hit the other side of the ocean.
Heaven has it's stars made of men, cosmos of galactic knowledge embedded in a small planet on the milkey way bar of sweet life. It erupts as a crumb from a bread tossed to the mouse in the corner.
It's life. It's everything I do and seek to create. Items are things made of matter, personless, with no traits to actually attribute to them. They are things. Things add up in our lives physically, maybe we have a place to put them. Things add up emotionally and we falsely believe they are important.
A frosty tale is always told,
in memories forgotten old.
A mystery of what we did,
who the strangers were we kissed.
Able bodies slowly turned rank,
by liquid poison in their drinks.
A death wish? Long term,
maybe so.
Even though they boast of life.
Our fire was in the eyes. The magic came sooner than I was ready for. Falling to my knees embarrassingly in the train station, she was embarrassed, looked away. Left me on my knees with the cold concrete burning a cold flame into my now burning embarrassed cheeks, changing everything I imagined in those short seconds. The whistle blew.
It sat above me with contempt. I was only gardening. I couldn't imagine what I had done to infuriate this bird so to stalk me wherever I went. At lunch I saw it perched outside on a fence post, when I walked to my cabin as the sun was setting I saw it land on my roof. A long silence passed between as we looked on one another as old friends, a character from another story come to life to remind of what it means to be lost in my own reality.
Spasms of fire rocked my body. The ominous crow on the windowsill three houses back, the pickles on the sandwich I had for lunch, her wain smile when I joked about her brother. Images of a life all surprised me in a flash of blinding light that illuminated the hospital room I found myself in.
In the city where pace is quick my heart beats minutes to the drum of humanity slaving itself for the Lords in their high rises, breathing the oxygenated air of high pompous royalty, stepping into the grit of the masses only short enough for the depressing hot dog on 4th avenue.
Where do I fit in