anybody out there? today ends again, night again, day again, fight and fleeing from me where the days are a daze and fragmentary abyss is better than nothing at all … talking is for confidence and lying is for self-delusion … always thought things might be deeper than the surface but this is all just one split moment, you know? flying like spiderwebs next to a combine tractor fielding wheat, fielding wheat, grandpa is in heat, never responds to “no,” he could never hear very well anyway … sheep are so symbolic like my shoes and the way the drift over pavement and the way the wind brings sea smells swimming and decaying … and all i can think of is rotten fish … memories … if they weren’t the substance of life what then? the single moment i keep forgetting i’m in? passing as shoes shifting through the alleyway, i never tire of diffused streetlamps like old gold like i do when i listen to happy voices trailing words of meaningless acceptance and raining silence above all the chatter … that is it, a noisy silence that i can’t stand … a loud voice shouting nothing … opening and closing, laughing as if on cue … i never asked you to pay attention anyway
the relic blue ocean has abandoned the structure-worked ground, falling with a magnanimous terror, haplessly washing these white blood stained streets, as the great grey rises over the impaling fading blue, trees wavering on starched root nakedly humming against the wind that has sucked its leaves, tentacles by tentacles, drip drop drip drop flesh of flesh droppingfallingdescenddiingagainst the secrets of natural sunlight.
and the last ragged articles of hope, fluices through the foliage-gutted gutters as a ressurection of faith flickers nimbly inbetween the incandescent amber headlights of passingby vehicles. warm rain puddles skillfully shoot across to the sides, avoiding death by nameless rubber tires. re-reading the furrowed memories imprinted on her forhead as they concave pleasantly, lips folding over to crease a soft-hearted smile.
broken lullaby’s in the corner of the coffee and muffin shop while serving her free coffee; enough sugar to stay awake at night and hold the rained alley walls for comfort.
re-reading cafe walls with invisible words flipping them day to day like pages of a presently writing novel — memories are like pages of rainfall lost in a dry winter windstorm- some become caught onto thin reaching branches stuck frozen like paper icicles –
even rotting fish never stays the same –
caught .listening