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| fig.23) a passing thought |
Here's what my crane of the march thinks of it when there is shade enough for thinking. It thinks that, the bench of my boat stays wet while my ass sits steadfast in the sand twitching and indifferent to it's breakfast of salt and knob knees. Here is what I shall feel today, I shall feel like, young. I shall feel like, must. I shall feel like, short pants, an old clock and a sharp eyed rebuke from a small and box like stage. Today I shall feel like a Chiclet that's been rolled in snot, that's been deep fried and chewed up by a small table saw. I'm tired today and my chest hurts. It's cold in my room and my nose is runny. Everything smells terrible everywhere. My olfactory range is limited to astringent and sour things or florid musk's. It's like being surrounded by old milk and Chanel number hell. I'm back at work which means I'm unhappy and angry just walking through the side door. I feel like I'm going to grow old here because I've banished my dreams in favor of comfort and the comforts that are affordable to me are all of the petty and inconsequential type that are within reach of the sundry, the dipsomaniacs, the sad sacks, and any other malcontent of the soul. I feel like the stapler is about to get me. I feel like the short proposal that's been left in the drawer under the pistol. I feel like the wrench that never leaves the box. I feel like the illness or like any illness that likes itself way too much. I feel simultaneously betrayed and unworthy of the company that I've kept in my time and now my knees are very weak. The chairs are full today but the music is still going around and around. I feel like I'm about to eat noodles and drink coffee for the millionth time in my life and only I will know how that feels. I feel feral like I've grown old beneath a grand piano in someone else's parlor. I feel like the dust in my eyes is the stuff of sickness and that the pride that I've known is the agent of it's being. I feel like I'm the spot between squishy and tomorrow's heel. I feel panicked and overloaded with all sorts of stalled thoughts and failed executions. I feel as though I should say hello but I hide and I wait and I wait again. I feel as though there should be more in my pockets and better above my shoes than a haircut.
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