June 25, 2014

Lone bird in the darkness.

Denied both Love and Work, my conversation narrows down to Fantasy. Isolation cannot be far behind. It is likely upon me now, and the dread is so great I refuse to notice.

Denied both Love and Work, I have no idea what to say when people ask me who I am. I finger the multiple, minor identities wondering which one to bring, this time, out into the light.

Denied both Love and Work– well, what to say beyond that? I’m like a soldier who’s lost all his limbs, and yet, because the uniform is fresh and in order, is commanded to go on as though nothing were amiss.

The boy-mowers mow down my stand of raspberries, which I clearly pointed out to the band of boy-mowers that came before. They are so speedy, so efficient I do not break their rhythm to tell them.