these are the dark days. when i wait and wait. soaking the whites in bleach. to wait. and wait. for something human to come. these are the plastic bag on the head. cold white sweat days. when i sink into the dog hair coated world. lick my wounds and wait. and the ache. horrible. heart stopping to break. comes. and i resolve myself to start again. jig the saw. pieces. everywhere. until i drain the dregs and pull the windowshades from the rods. wreck the room. shake to shake in the darkness. the gloam. i am the new wrong way right. the wrong something anywhere sometime this time something. no map to walk the way on the belt or the asphalt or the way the bird flies here. on the flat horizon into forever nothing. i need mist. and shade. not quite light. something to lose myself. to loose. these ties that bind. the dark. these dark days. need dictionary definitions. and black spray paints. the lot.

1 Comments:

At 11:15 AM, Blogger -blessed b9, Catalyst4Christ said...

We're all matter
of the ground...
and, thus, we recycle.
The recycling process has
been going on for billions
of years, dear - exactly why
Jesus sez 'you are of dust...
and of dust you shall return'.
How do you get the dust in
your lifetime N wiseabove?
Start withis:
TurnOrBernie blogspot com
GBY

 

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