Stream of Consciousness #8
the ice eyes is melted
it leaves the scum of the earth at it’s feet.
do you want to skip breakfast or eat meat
I love this weather it is better to stay and keep than to go aloft and die in the winter lights
I stayed at home watching telly
you like eating ham and jelly’it is smelly
who’d evah thought that I was the one with the sore leg and the sore foot and the Achilles heel and the swollen ankle and the cough and the sore thought and post nasal drip
hey babe lets take a trip
to downtown where the air is clear
bird near sun bright capo
lightened in the darkness you will find me
stuck in a lost corridor
finding my way up these walls
you can see me drifting like nobody’s business
like me soaring above every line
and singing away my heart
you ate the brownies and a tart
like an apple without a stem Mrs. Jaffet and Mr. Sem
lucky they can get together on this sunny afternoon and not feel frightened by their certain doom.
like me, only wiser, and smaller without wit or any mental capacity
x x x x x x x x xx x x x x x x x
I trudge onward, carrying a stick that I will pick to live a life of strange boredom.
your life is exiting, she said, she says quickly and then leaves.
i love you and this light is the strongest doll, isn’t it, aint it so darling aint that true aint it the truth my dearling dar. I wonder why thought your eyes are not the same as mine I wonder, then realize that that’s not what’s important, I mean, really, what was I thinking? It’s not my fault, I realize, it isn’t my fault at all. the lightening strikes before I talk, so as long as I keep on talking…
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x xx x x
he answered, the telephone rest was getting sweaty
he had not talked to her for months
and it was nerve-racking
“I’d like to have dinner with you shyanne”
he whispers, and then is silent.
on the end of the line she sniffs, then hangs up.
his mind goes back to the fist day of last summer.
It was nice then, he thought
it was for her good to get the fresh air and the night breeze and the swallow songs
but tonight I have only the humming of the water boiler and the squeak of the oiled door hinges
it is nice for to be just alone.
Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry