Here are three short ones that maybe somehow make a whole...
THE DUMMIES WINDOW
The dummies window and the treadmill treachery in hard talk for the long sleeves were holding all the cards and blowing wind for the masses and falling short by a thousand years; but the revolution was going just fine.
Over in the love-full bowl the bone breathing prince was marrow washing for all he was worth and falling into living without a home.
Not everyone has an explanation and that was alright too; but there are many on a mission and so in a way that made up for it. If you’re on a mission you don’t need an explanation, or have an excuse, and you certainly don’t need to convince anyone you’re on your way somewhere when you’re going, it’s self evident; but of course there’ll always be questions that you don’t want to answer; but in the end, no matter what, you’ll be identifiable as the stranger and sooner or later it’ll be the cloak you’ll wear in all the places you’ll find yourself coming to terms with who you are and who you are not.
And so, writing on the wall the extremes of this you leave a part of yourself behind wherever you go, sometimes as an island in paradise or another searching soul who can’t find their way home but is looking anyway.
So many depths to plumb where the bottom feeders united never close their mouths until you feel you just have to get away from it to just be, and climbing from the depths you find yourself once again staring out of the window of your soul at the reflections of whatever’s growing around you and you’re always there wherever you are, and that’s alright too sometimes unless a carnival idiot comes with a wheelbarrow of explanations and tries to lay them on you and mentions the holy grail in utopia and freedom for all, and there’s you drinking your coffee and finding your face is suddenly full of the stuff even though you’ve said nothing and don’t want to be a part of it.
And getting up to leave and walking away you find yourself the strange one until you’ve gone around the corner and can shake it off.
But usually sooner than later another excuse will come along with explanation to divide up the living into what you don’t want to hear about. And if you were to boil it all down it would come out as shrivelled blocks of lard on the conveyor belt of the mind that no explanation can justify yet does all the same.
So when the crowd came up against the balloon that had gone up they all turned into strangers living without a home and covered in graffiti and that’s when they knew they’d gone too far and just had to turn around and go back again. But all the bridges had been burnt and the boat had sunk again, so there was nothing for it but to carry on and hope for the best.
The pale eye of all this looked on and grinned so that no-one could get a word in edgeways.
DESIGNATION
Someone turned on the rain machine that began to blunder and burble causing an impression of disproportionate propensities to begin dancing.
The cuckoo clock on the wall choose that very moment to say something quite coherent as it happens so everyone listened to what it had to say.
The translation company on a foggy beach after having failed the test glanced up and said: “You must begin now,” but no-one took any notice, mistaking the translation company for an old tramp eating chips in the corner and with the rain beating down at the windows it all turned into a grey day that hardly fizzled at all and so went back to sleep in dreams of somewhere warmer.
TWO WIVES LATER
“What can we tell you?” cried the winds.
“I would walk this moonbeam later where I can’t be found in strange wayward dreams,” said the pair of eyes back-wheeling rapidly.
The Richter scale groaned at all the new news, and “Run der rum der run,” growled the Norse gods in their heaven.
Two wives later the hero and his toast was buttered so he set off into the dawn of his new life down that long road he’d always said he’d go down one day.
But nothing happened, the mud was too thick for traction and he found himself going nowhere.
“Come for tea,” said the frog miner coming up for breath.
“Don’t mind if I do,” said the hero turning around.”
“Is that all you have to say?” asked the frog miner later.
“I’m all out of words,” said the hero sighing.
Image from Pixabay
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