HOME | POLITICS | SPORTS | LIFE | SCI/TECH | OPEDS | HELPFUL TIPS
|
 By Brian Michael Barbeito Feb. 25, 2006 Colored stones fall through the water to the bottom of the manufactured sea world. The light shines on them and when they reach the bottom they sit in silence, gathering and spreading apart. The nature trail is endless, and snow has blanketed the trees and the ground. There are some old houses, pioneer type dwellings, and at the witching hour, it seems that phantoms are meant to travel there. In plazas and malls there are a hundred mailboxes, sturdy and sure, dressed up in red. Tough women with track pants and nicotine name their girls with words like Crystal, and Becky, and these names and more carry a certain karmic designation that sounds like trailers or apartment buildings. The basketball bounces. The doors close. The wind winds. The courtesan gets drunk on fire and Windex. You can buy twenty pens for two dollars and hang them in your hat. Or you can write love letters to decadent angels in old tennis shoes. Sometimes the nuns pray to the electric light and the green fog. Colored stones fall to the bottom of tanks, one two three four, and more. They know how to be. Maybe at the crystal store there will be witches and spell casters. Maybe the cool ones will be there with some potions and pills. We look at the books of the ages. Dead letters and dead thoughts. Only cowards join groups. The wishy-washy one remains alone, aloof, and watches the stones fall. We cannot get back the scent of our Saturday smile. The world is adjusted. The world is in medicinal bliss. One two three four stones. In literary magazines the talk is astute. In car magazines there are chrome mufflers. The streets are beautiful and bright. The fluffy way, the longest day. There was a group of avatars staring at the moon. The devotees wear purple and silver bells. The cosmic lady is around. Where is she? She is an ideal, a beautiful ideal. The cold hills of glass. The nihilist in the garden. The lily tulips might come up. We can only hope. The world is made for steel and wind. The creator is a gorgeous prostitute. She likes lemon pies and lots of lies. But she knows how to be. She has a pocket full of colored stones she drops in aquariums. She is amused. She saw that it was good. She might save the greater world if she feels like it. But if she doesn't, she doesn't. It will be interesting to see what happens, because everybody knows colored stones are better than people. Everybody knows that she loves these more. ------------ About the author: Brian Michael Barbeito lives in Aurora, Ontario, Canada. His two most recent books are Medium Double Double Milk (non-fiction) and Fluoride And The Electric Light Queen (poems), neither currently published. Email: 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! |
||||||
|
|
|||||||
|
