Journal 75 - Clouds and Life on a Sunday Afternoon

The dark side of the moon lives in the corner of my
eye, snuggled like  a ripe sty waiting for its day to burst
into my lonesome field of view and misappropriate the
light for its sinister dealings - misanthropic principles fill
my body with gory scenes of fake horror blood on fake
horror smiles. I am fake when I smile red-faced and
cool in the air-conditioned luxury of these hot torpid
days, I am fake with my books and my notes, my second-
hand ideas regurgitated from a 16th century fool who
claimed to beset the language's Bard. My ideas float through
my mind like a newspaper dropped on the ground
in a busy subway, the wind of the times and the
rides carrying each thought through the maze of
various perceptions, trying to attract like electrons some
meaningful bond of covalent minds - covered with the
words written by someone else on a tight schedule but
still more depth than I as I tip-toe into the shallow
end, the warm shallow end where the children gather
to reflect their parents' shiny ways of living in this
rainbow killed world. The drizzling of the clouds on
a Sunday afternoon says we live, we live, we live today
in reverse anti-matter undecay of smiles over buck-
toothed bright dismay. We live another sunny rainy day.


7.19.12