I was once asked if I was content with the sky, clouds way up high, only three stars to be spied. Could this monoform view satisfy summertime woes of heartbreak coated candy striped existence alone? Could entangled codes break down the fate of a lonely life scenario? Wait! Revolution around the fireside, clocks stopped ticking, and heartbeats sounded silent opportunities at warm bed sheets in dark nighttime intimacy. Hands on her hips with a fiery kiss and a soft smoke fragrance, in the air from her lungs I tasted the clarity of everything that is or ever was you and me. Why are we all so ill fated? Over and over and over again we succumb to the siren called serenity. Sensually eventually we might share an apartment apparent in newspaper ads accompanying breakfast cereal, reality slowly drawing to a close as eyelids droop and sleep entraps your shallow soul in the pleasant dementia of your own selfish dreams built for skillfully avoiding reality. Kiss me, so artsy and full of passion, be my escapade, my sweet escape.
Stop pulling so tight on my heart-strings you’re dragging me behind begrudgingly captivated by the lady bug on the branch hanging off the weeping willow tree next door. I’m not a dog on a leash and the world begs to explored in all its intimate music induced meditation moments of pure clarity. Evergreen winter trees decorated with icicle snow and candy gumdrop colored scaled to size galaxies in ornaments long dormant in some basement closet closed off from society. Live high in mediocrity, while stable with stability, and in love and lonely in the morning when you watch the sun rise from windows in quiet rooms. Close the drapes and lace the shoestrings strung between your chest and soul, like a black hole slowly eating away at existence in all its instants expressed by clock hands on a Mickey Mouse clock or a digital backlit cell phone screen.
But the world carries on like nothing ever happened...
In Amsterdam there was an astronaut dog named comet, baby that’s so ironic. Street signs named after dead presidents each responsible in their own little way to the highness of gas prices in this day and age of technologically entrapped society on the edge of falling off a steep decline of a bad credit line because the flash and flare of the marketing man tricked you into pulling out your plastic. It’s all about the power of the American dollar and the value of this waste of a war effort that relied too heavily on a trickle down economy full of republicans falsely practicing Reaganomics and wishing on stars over Baghdad.
|
Submission Name: Soul Searching
