Afternoon the silence

afternoon the silence

Sounding birds in bright water. Camping. Interest. Foreseen circumstance. Dive into. Parading around in your underwear. Like a bathing suit. Seen. Unforeseen.

There is looking at their faces. It is not a pleasure. They look either dead or angry. The dead ones are more interesting. That’s not saying much.

Anger is an ego trip. One without the other is a lack attack. Nothing and something went for a walk. Testing. Testing.

Hand turned sideways in the air. Do not think of them. Let it go a lot of different ways with your anchor you remember. Just below your omphalus.

Byzantine artifact. The monsters that you love vs the monsters that you hate. The prose of the world like galoshes made of concrete. Secret service. Take you down to the roaming waters. Show you the ship’s masthead. Old 30’s cool car hood ornament. The laughter of birds.

Cave in the night. Winter dreams in late spring. Meditation before bed. Doing what they said you should not do. That’s where you find out. Water fades and comes back. Air is all around.

Looking at the ground was better than their hostile faces. God knows what was done to them. It’s a sorry scene. The prettier the background, the more horrible the foreground made of them in it. Better to be staring into space. The cold hard presumptuousness. Like a pen without ink.

Patty looks down at her shoes. She has a 2am appointment with somebody in her dreams. Picking up where they left off. It’s a bass line. Hitchhiking. Drums. Fried food. Hockey.

Capital the dream investment overturning boxes when they’re drunk. Fed up with the nothing you can do about it dance. Electing to step out of traffic. Is it any wonder? Jane only crosses where there’s no left turn allowed.

Concerned. No need to be not no longer slouching. In the bright light dreams are thinner. But the feeling in the feet is stronger. Make the effort while you can. Maybe muscle memory will take over. When it starts to fade away. May it not really matter.


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