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Dec. 20, 2006 White ice cream trucks driving in the rain, or parked in the rain, and the letters scream with bright amusement, but it's really sadness in the low-down world, the broken city. The clarity of bright morning bravery, and words written by train tracks, or on towers of industrial glory. The rain and the truth it brings, and women huddle in corners, wearing big sweaters, and the busses go past. Genghis Khan never saw a movie, and the old Cadillacs are rusted and sad. Ghostly visits and the dawns bring hurtful sunshine to the rural places. A pastoral for us all. The past recedes, and people adjust, and things are as they should, but a sad clown, never smiling for real, remembers, and remembers everything always and evermore. He walks by the back dirt roads beyond the circus, a freak himself, a rarity, but not like a rare jewel at all. He sits on benches of disdain, and knows that others don't ache or mourn. Or do they? The answers he sought he never found. The bearded lady laughs, and gives him a drink. More bitter drink, for bitter and misspent souls. And the wind, and the wind is even mean, and out for thrills and the whole world spills its guts, and it's not great, but there is hope, but the path is difficult, so very difficult. There are cars and buildings and parks and the ants and the trees and the wolves wait, the wolves will try to wait you out. The forest is empty and rickety, and the frogs have gone to hide, and south, far, far south, on an island, the wild dogs roam, and one in particular. It could have anything, could be rabid, God only knows, but its mostly just lost, and wandering, by the palm trees, and the shorelines, and looking for, what, just food? Of course not, it's looking for comfort, and for someone or something. And the dog and the clown are the same. And one day, they saw one another, but couldn't help one another, cause you can't give the comfort you don't have. And waves roll in, and ice cream trucks move past, and the past moves past, and so much is cursed, and the clown frets because he was made for the dark night of fretting, and the dog wanders, because that is his destiny, to be wandering dog, outcast, but can you see his beautiful soft brown eyes, and that he didn't want it to be the way it is? And the sun goes down. It feels like rain. ------------ Email Brian Michael Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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