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21 more things = 42

The last post was the 21 things I KNOW at 42. At the end I said I'd consider writing 21 more things to make it 42 in total & then ...

Sunday

Pilfered Possibilities


Sunrise follows the dusty trail of whispered truths.
The fatty drippings of heartbreak coagulate in the oppressive heat.
A cafe called Solitude is serving Sadness on ice in blue tumblers.
The day's special is numbness, no substitutions.

How could you do this to us?
Goodness was stacked like gold at Fort Knox.
Some of it was Fool's, but the shine was so pretty I forgot to mind.
You let thieves in while my back was turned, busy polishing how fortunate we were.
Maybe you didn't know they were rustlers, because they bore a resemblance to you, and you assumed you could trust them with your treasure.
They trashed our sanctuary and painted me hideous in my sleep.
They changed out the lenses you saw me through.

I gave you my dreams on a big screen, in High Def.
You left me popcorn hulls and candy stuck to the floors of my vulnerable places.
Cleaning up behind you seemed easy enough at first.
I had the brawn and the fortitude, and searched for the silver lining:
I got myself back and it had been a long time since I'd seen her.
Then those days crept up when I'm spot cleaning my reality and ran across our relationship report card and see that "F" in invisible ink.
My mind knows it's not my failure but my heart feels worthless, dreams aborted.
Sometimes I think I see fingers pointing and hear snickers in the bushes as I walk by, taunting the pothole in my journey.
I've put flowers and teddy bears up to enshrine the place where who we were took its final breath.
From time to time I pass by there to see if you've come by to make your offerings.
You have.
& yet I feel no better because now there are 2 sets of footprints when you pay reverence.
Strangers aren't welcome here...

Sunrise follows the dusty trail of whispered truths.
The fatty drippings of heartbreak coagulate in the oppressive heat.
A cafe called Solitude is serving Sadness on ice in blue tumblers.
The day's special is numbness, no substitutions.

Solitude cafe feels crowded. I think I'll eat somewhere else.

alt
(c) 2009

1 comment:

  1. houses that wurds built. this jawn right here has bite. kick. imagery so rich & bittersweet. eye can still feel tha reverb in mah crown molar. ish. u a high priestess. a clean blarin siren amdist a cacophani uv confusion. tha dust settles around ur ankles. jericho neber stood a chance. no quaters fa dem baldheads. ur participles form a trail uv breadcrumbs that leads one back ta they soul....

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