Oh all the world's on fire in this midday heat. The asphalt glimmers and creates swimming pools that levitate and shake. The sun washes out the colours; everything looks like bleached bones. We stuff ourselves on chain-restraunt food, even the smallest portions are too much. I miss Europe and its digestible allotments, its dark skies, its moody reflections. My skin feels like darned wool. I look at my elbow and there's a string hanging down. I go to pull it away and to my suprise it's not attached to my rolled shirt sleeve, it's a piece of my elbow. I tug gently and it begins to unravel. I look around quietly, wondering whether or not I should tell someone, but decide against it when my lips begin to slip off my face. I collect their stringy remnants and stuff them into my pocket. I tuck my elbow into my shirt sleeve, which I roll down my arm. I sit still on a bench. I watch the birds in the sky. I wonder when it will get dark.
4 comments:
If, in a few years, I asked you to, would you come with me on a trip on a motorcycle to everywhere?
And, after all's said and done, we can take a bottle of whiskey and sit at the bottom of the ocean.
I think I'd like that.
I'm completely serious.
So am I.
Post a Comment