talk show generics -ii

He was demure in between binges. She was the polliwog in his flying fish fry, hiding under the curtain in the fringes. They were mutuals who secretly willed a corruption, playing hide-n-seek in a hobby lobby of manipulations. She got busy with telemarketers on the home line, keeping them guessing in a cold steep run up of daytime, followed by the evening news, the blackouts and hysterics. The whole enchilada was ready made for talk show generics. Not her. People like her.

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faux

faux froid

La Verite was nowhere to be found. Faux Froid took over the town. A chill cast over the roads – trees – dirt – homes – faces – ankles – toes. Toenails soft as reflections bent around the way, only to be bent back around. Compensation had long ago — long long ago, you know — fled the sapling exchange-post.

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I could feel my anxiety in my body, in my blood, and I no longer fought to escape it. I focused on it and understood it to be energy and that it could be useful to me rather than a hindrance. The room was full of people and soon it would be my turn to speak. I stayed calm and receptive to the growing spirit in me which sought release. I asked my heart what it knew, and told it to my associates. The day would be long and arduous. A cat befriended me. When I got home I made myself a salad and watched Dr. Zhivago. The movie was full of trains and war and winter and romance. People were losing their homes, all in the name of the working man. The doctor was a poet and recognized by a soldier, who told him his work was no longer meaningful, that the time of shared personal intimacies was over. I felt the sting. I came to tears. War is terrible and can make hopeless fools of us all. But stay honest and keep about your work, and you will have life eternal.

how we get by

the clouds are still and the earth is moving. i see the others and i want to love them, i do, and i reach out and we talk for a while and the room softens. it’s raining outside but only in a small targeted area which moves as the earth spins. the clouds are not moving, they are still. i know when i look up and see the clouds moving, they are not. what i see with my eyes and sense with my senses, never tells the whole story. i am so glad we have a story without an ending. this is how we get by.