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Odds & Ends #8: Rainy Day

 


Peer out. What's the matter, can't? 

Well I can. My multifaceted eyes see all. Across the water. Across the plains beyond. So far, far away, into the tall, tall office building yonder. On floor 27, near the water cooler, lies the man. Choked by the cheap plastic cup, he's dead. 

But that building will never crumble. 

So why see. It's bad for you. 





Fortune

Fear called by name

From cards treating all same







Facile Simile

My mind is a piece of lichen

Moss turned to the light and hardened

Growing out of the stone of my body

Earthen-smelling mist floating from rocky pores


A willing adventurer swaps the rare growth for clean stone

Pocketing it for her collection

But the pure rock is placed crooked, 

And no same lichen will grow there again







Waylaid

Bum digadiga 

Bum digadiga

Bum digadiga 

Bum digadiga 

The train moves softly along

My eyes are closed, my thoughts in harmonious song

I am comfort, and I am sleepily rocked by the trackwise vibrations

Bum digadiga

Bum digadiga

A sudden thought comes to me, a distant dream, a forgotten time, a memory I yearn to be enveloped in.

A sudden thought comes to me, the answer for my question, a resolve, steadfast and obsidian.

I open my eyes to search for a pen to write down such an incredulous thing, but only the emotions tied to it remain. 

Bum digadiga 

Bum digadiga 

So I settle back into my chair and bask in the heat of my own self

Checking the time, I have an hour’s more yellowed falling leaves to ride past.

Thankfully, the train is on time.

I can only hope my unresolved memories are not waylaid.

Bum digadiga 

Bum digadiga

Bum digadiga 

Bum digadiga 







Due

The small indignant factory

Full of tiny tools

Working minute machines

I can see it all from my window

And I despise their nothingness


Operations halt 

The dust settles

The whirr of the shut down winds

Blowing in through my window, I see all

Here I shall remain through nightfall


I am the morning, and they will answer my call







But when the fog clears, and it always does, you will see. And you will holster your belief for another, soggy, morning.

And that will be the bug in you.

From a distance,
Steffen


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