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Jun. 5, 2007 Firecrackers and the wild vacant lots where jeeps make paths. Intersections full of white starched shirts and dark glasses. A short haircut and neat clothing. Fast food and the gas station. White Cadillac at night before the rain. Copper bins. Earrings. Ceiling fans. Couches. Metal railings. Red drinks. Sin. Redemption. Floating flowers out to sea. Pirate ships and planks. Bananas. Old hats. Walking down the loneliest street in the world where the cats cry, where the birds are strangely silent, where the empty cans went beyond sad, and entered permanent mourning, where the papers faded and faded and faded, where the old men don’t smile, where the trees leak tears, where the Kings are crooked, where the Queens are wicked, where there is no kindness, where the decades took everything away. Thorns. Old cars. Sheds. Stolen hearts. Banks. The setting moon. Old Indian women in earth tones walking. Shops with odd beans and spices. Coffee shop thieves. Sad stairways forlorn. How do you keep your spirit there? Wires. Skunks. Little hills. Windows. Cotton shirts. Sometime, one July, thousands of dreams ago, by a brown desk. Peculiar. Wood and mildew and the tiles. Maybe the sky is made from tiles. Sky tiles please, with planets, and as many moons as you can muster. Firecrackers there. Hopefulness still lurking there, against everything. Stores. Peaches. White roses. Fast squirrels too. ------------ 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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