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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: A brief condensation of June (18th to be specific)dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: orderly conduct
    Elite Ratio:    2.44 - 51/80/36
    Words: 469
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 876
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2562



    Description:
       summers started. lifes ended. this may have been the best year. but that is not happy dear friends, it is so purely sad.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsA brief condensation of June (18th to be specific)dots
    -------------------------------------------


    When the house was silent we made bread. Rolled up tissues and mugged up the sink. I had 10000 dishes to wash or just 2, but I left anyway. Moping the sweet water off the floor with brittle Kleenex’s (But it stuck. No-one felt the sticky floor for 2 days since the rules were to wear indoor slippers. Eventually a guest came with no socks and said “My, my, your clear floor is sticky here”)

    We got yelled at but it meant two things, we’d get in trouble either way.

    1. For failing to notice the floor was sticky
    2. For noticing the floor was sticky but not wearing indoor slippers

    And because I took a while to work this out I left with a copper colored bag, containing the 6th book, a pack of noodles, the other pair of glasses, a timer and that safran foer novel as well.

    When time ends (or begins) people always find better things to do than quadratics or thigh pushers. Ravioli steams up and made 3 bowls red along with teal spoons and netted bowls. You never learned how to bike, you never learned how to talk, you (me) never learned how to stop. (But I did, briefly, on the downward stretch of the road on the hill). Thunder rolls in, but the rain never starts (stops?) until you’re inside. Cotton flies through the air waiting to be eaten or breathed in or stuck to your billowing paling shirt. And muffles are heard in the shrubs of-birds/bees/people, while all day I slept (like snoopy) and dreamt of ALDO bags and wars and sweets. When we found our spot on the turn we concluded that 9-11 was made up, old pizza men are cried over and your fucked-for-life (FUCKED-FOR-LIFE) if you grew up watching small, smallish, smaller, (but still) clips of the holocaust (or you read that Roald Dahl story on Hitler). Did Anne Frank make you sad? Did exams make you sad? Did seeing cars drive away make you sad? Did knowing your parents were almost home make you sad? Do un-used rusting barbeques make you sad? Do old men make you sad? Do old men with invisible friends make you sad?

    Did you know that I saw an old man, walking towards the tunnel, talking to invisible people. And it was sad. ‘But what if there was someone invisible?” I don’t think about that really, that was you saying that. But it was sad, and I think he never managed to come back out. My friend watched a film called “Heaven” and cried, my friend met Imelda Staunton and cried, my friend broke fences and cried, and today, I learnt I can fall into myself (In bed, 9:30 pm) and still breath.





    Submitted on 2007-06-20 21:37:32     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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