The end again, and I taste my own bitter tail.
Super 8 flickering eternally in this internal theatre, hacked and scratchy dystopian scenes looping; no sound just smells. Back when I was un-fucked, I wandered and collected peace, a weaver of all that is beautiful and given freely. Tree lines and stonewalls were my gracious guides.
I’d scrubbed on through fair country all day, but the horizon soured and the winds chased their errant children home. Heavy clouds held as I wound my way, as if they pitied this carrion crow and drench-me-not.
Even under the trees, though, the rains still humble you with fat, obnoxious drops. Here was I, a crude watercolour, tones running, paper sodden and sagging over the bones of a frugal life. There, as I forgot the day against a moist but sun-warmed rock, she pounced down from above. We tussled a while and she screeched terrible words. In her eyes was iron.
Clichés can’t fail but to follow, so are those dice loaded; all sixes and then nothing but snake eyes. The sunny impossible beginnings give way to agreeable mediocrity, thinning hair and corduroy and thence disdain and a sharpened tongue. She cracked my jaw one time too many, and I waded away into deep, black brine. There were no stars for a time, but one day I became aware that I trailed my hand along sandy walls and saw nothing but meadow flowers. Untroubled, linear once more. The breeze tasted thyme.
Then I was in a bear trap, and she flung herself from under military netting, an elephant gun grasped in vulgar hands. A pendent swung between her weapons and she wore nought but a sneer.
Suffocated and contained, the years collecting in a puddle under my chair. Until one day, the door nudged softly against its frame, untethered in a moment’s negligence. Through the thin crack I smelled fresh rain on whispering grasses, felt again that sun-warm rock against my back. Vaulting the cruel wire fence, I was out.
Out into the countryside until at last my beloved path lay before me. Clenched fists at my side, I sucked in the first lungful of freedom in many years, and took a tentative step.
And there she stood.
Super 8 flickering eternally in this internal theatre, hacked and scratchy dystopian scenes looping; no sound just smells. Back when I was un-fucked, I wandered and collected peace, a weaver of all that is beautiful and given freely. Tree lines and stonewalls were my gracious guides.
I’d scrubbed on through fair country all day, but the horizon soured and the winds chased their errant children home. Heavy clouds held as I wound my way, as if they pitied this carrion crow and drench-me-not.
Even under the trees, though, the rains still humble you with fat, obnoxious drops. Here was I, a crude watercolour, tones running, paper sodden and sagging over the bones of a frugal life. There, as I forgot the day against a moist but sun-warmed rock, she pounced down from above. We tussled a while and she screeched terrible words. In her eyes was iron.
Clichés can’t fail but to follow, so are those dice loaded; all sixes and then nothing but snake eyes. The sunny impossible beginnings give way to agreeable mediocrity, thinning hair and corduroy and thence disdain and a sharpened tongue. She cracked my jaw one time too many, and I waded away into deep, black brine. There were no stars for a time, but one day I became aware that I trailed my hand along sandy walls and saw nothing but meadow flowers. Untroubled, linear once more. The breeze tasted thyme.
Then I was in a bear trap, and she flung herself from under military netting, an elephant gun grasped in vulgar hands. A pendent swung between her weapons and she wore nought but a sneer.
Suffocated and contained, the years collecting in a puddle under my chair. Until one day, the door nudged softly against its frame, untethered in a moment’s negligence. Through the thin crack I smelled fresh rain on whispering grasses, felt again that sun-warm rock against my back. Vaulting the cruel wire fence, I was out.
Out into the countryside until at last my beloved path lay before me. Clenched fists at my side, I sucked in the first lungful of freedom in many years, and took a tentative step.
And there she stood.