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Apr. 16, 2007 Low-Down Bridge And The Floridian Sun I was sitting by the benches, across the road from somewhere or other, and waiting for a ride. I was in Florida, and don’t know exactly where, but it was a poor area. There was a bridge over to my left, and it was black underneath. Not underneath where the cars went, but the underneath of the steel, was painted black or something. I was happy there waiting, and it was mostly because of the sun I suppose, because it was so bright, and sustaining, and overall good. I sat and watched the cars go by. I thought about these two women, these two Spanish or Cuban looking women, who were twins, that I had seen, and how hot they looked, hot as in attractive, and not hot because of the sun. They had been in gray bathing suits. Nobody would remember that. They probably would not remember that. But I remembered that. Their hair was wet and all back, especially the way it can be put back when a woman does not have bangs, but the hair is all one length. Their skin was so tanned and toned, and their faces and bodies looked beautiful. Then I looked over by the bridge again, and it looked low-down. A bridge looking low-down, who woulda thunk? Then some people came by, I suppose, but don’t remember for sure. What I do remember is that there was this man on a bike. He came by, and was talking to me. I was on his path sort of, to a fast food restaurant. He was white, and had a ponytail, and was wearing jeans and a dirtyish shirt. He was nice. He was salt of the earth nice, and mentioned that he had these coupons for a burger, and he figured what the hell, since they were expiring today, he’d go there and get him a burger. Then he was off, on his bike. Sometimes a person on a bike can be good, because they are close to the earth. See, when I am in places like that, I am in the crossroads of other realities, so to speak, and you can find yourself talking to a man like that, where you normally wouldn’t cross his path. Then I was still there, sitting on those benches, and the local buses went past, and the bridge was there, and the sun. I was smoking Winstons, from a red packet, and they were too strong, too rough, but I kept smoking them. That is all I remember from that, sitting in the Floridian sun, well not inside it, but under it, in a poor district, by a low-down bridge, and the Winstons and the salt of the earth man on the bike with the burger coupon, and that kind of thing. The Color of Memory Visions of DNA strands and red balloons that break, and the gravel paths are wet and long and wide enough. Calm, centered, and the guidance of angels. Coyotes move away, and the ruminations of people. Tall trees, bare and strong. Rockets in space, or the hundred ways to heaven. Marbles, and the lives of the saints, or the couches of everywhere. Gone were the days of summer storms, gone were the days of wagons and nuns and the Buffalo roads. Walking on the asphalt, after eating tuna fish, and waiting for the muse. Rocks held in by wire mesh, and someone fishes for food for a snake. Dead mice in the fields. Black shingled rooftops, and guns. The floods came down to the creek and rose up the hills, inch by inch, where they tore down the Evergreens. Skinny snakes, and a bat at dusk, late dusk, right before night blinks on, like the memory of something, or of course, the non-memory of something. Wild old women, and she wanted to be kissed, by the sand, by the moon, as shore serpents croon. Piers, and waterways, or the horizon of anywhere. Old trees, and cemeteries, and there aren’t ghosts there, but mosquitoes with agendas. Gone were the days of sweet incredible nightmares, and the Holy Spirit whispering in the ear. ------------ 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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