Saturday, July 9, 2011

dreams of heaven


            I hear voices, I don’t talk back. That’s how, they say, you know you’re crazy, is when you talk back. They didn’t tell me, I just overheard them talking about it. They just go on and on about it sometimes and I can’t tell whether they know if I’m listening or not. I pretend I don’t, go on about my merry way, I don’t see them or provide eye contact.
            There are always those poor souls on the side of the street with fluttering mouths asynchronous to footsteps, obviously monotonous self reply, even behind windows, below silence. Can’t hear their muttering but their daze are 365.
            I talk to my self, he is a good person that just can’t keep that filthy hand out of my business. He needs to learn manners, discipline and respect. He needs to learn something new every day. He needs to take care of this thing and not worry so much. He needs to express his self because I said so.
            Sometimes he does what he’s told but he really does have a mind of his own. He thinks of everything and it can be hard to keep up, though I don’t really have to. I forget sometimes that my pants are on backwards and then my pants are on backwards. I’m halfway to the top of this wall and when I get there it will be all Italian ice and warm pizza smells. Smile on me like the sticky breath you are, for the future of the generation, the skeptical clerk who has been there before and just thought for a moment…
            You don’t know who I am. He hasn’t been here all day. I don’t want you going changing my future, revealing your psychic nature and touching a memory to be left by the ticket spindle, to be stabbed, only to realize the alarm clock as I open my eyes…
            “I’m late again,” he declared as if he wouldn’t be if he didn’t. The toast was sealed to the linoleum with cold butter, as Murphy’s bed revolved and burned the house down. I haven’t the slightest idea where he is but I’m blaming him for my unexcusable behaviour. Why did mr blue sky choose such a beastly vehicle to interpret his rays of mozart
            It only takes a moment, a day and an hour to secure a place in line, and once you do your in, so fluff your duster and muster mustard buster. Wait just wait just wait just wait just wait im melting. Don’t go breaking eggs, stay at home and paint the sink. I don’t stand a chance, I kick little dogs and buy books I never read.
            I mean I mean I mean well I mean well

            Do you ever get the feeling
            Back here
            Where it itches
            But your tongue feels waxy
            Orange and cold
            I miss three things about you
            

No comments:

Post a Comment