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Mar. 29, 2010 Old full drops of water floating through and then down the sky and the apples grow large and bitter. The gray gates of the dull trees laden with ghosts and the specters never see and always just roam and roam. Gateways and passages, the garden at the end of the world and it’s so cold there. The dreams of the sub tropical lightening and the water stream or nightmarish afternoons by intercostals waterways. Men on streetcars and the woman in summer love the sky and the sand and the sun is on the side of the non-storm. Rakes and bells, faucets and radios, or the grand ravine and gambling tune and rune. Jinx and kismet and crackling cackling meals in the worst part of town. The old stadium and the snowstorms are lonely and like it that way or maybe not. Hostility and grating nerves or benign moments in the dream of the real day of the real remembrance of the real past. For some reason the place where they talked about and demonstrated science- by the trees- by the wide nature- it comes to mind frequently- like a guide message, like a memory omen, like a hundred signposts designating something just out of reach or a talisman of the psyche. And the glistening past is not unreachable it is only past. ------------ About the Author: For more of Brian's short stories, visit his website: http://www.freewebs.com/storyandstory/. Email Brian 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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