Saturday, January 29, 2011

A Little Nonsense

It was quiet over the city, which didn’t matter to me in the least as I was in the suburbs. Rain battered the outside of buildings, somewhere, but I was inside looking out at the warm winter night.

Maybe it was my sentimental heart, or maybe it was the tequila… Either way I had just one thing on my mind. Trouble is, I couldn’t think of what it was. Also I didn’t have tequila in the house so what I had drunk was a mystery to all.

Beside me the exercise bike had seen better days. Not many, mind you, but beggars can’t be choosers; sometimes. It seemed to be a metaphor for my life, always in motion but never going anywhere. Deciding this was too deep a thought, I quickly threw it out the window into the grass. It laid there looking back at me, hurt. I tried to tell it that I might one day have time for it, but not at the moment.

I was busy you see.

Off in the distance a bird was calling. Another bird answered, but the call was collect so it declined it. Ah, to be young and a blue jay.

Suddenly I remembered what it was that I’d forgotten; the thing I’d been trying to remember all along. Quickly I hobo’d my way onto the train of thought which was just leaving the station. As I sat in the car watching the progression of mind meeting relevance, I was startled to see that everything connects one day to the next. It was a humbling realization.

One that I wanted no part of.

An instant I jumped from the moving train, remembering just in time to tuck and roll, and came up safe in the place between thoughts. It was all at once empty and full. I tried to think of something. Anything. Alas, in such a place no thought exists. Madness descending, I quickly leaped out of the way, landing back in my flat beside the exercise bike.

As things had turned out the way they had I decided there was only one thing left to do. So, taking hold of the stationary bike, I rode off into the night.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

A Murder

Last letter on the left,
Typed in a time of silence
His thoughts cold to the page
"My life needs an evacuation plan"
Voices echo dimly
In the sunlit halls of a child's memory
Where building blocks
Abc'd their way into being more than a foundation
While the man sits with coffee
Cigarettes and lighter for companionship
Lights up and mouths quietly
"All my life I've wanted to go home"
But no one listens to the words
Of children and old men
Except for the birds
That circle above.