good day

Lollipops and fructose in a nation called to democracy, deciding on our future and idealizing the past through a rose-tinted mirror ('my youth was my glory cuz I was young and alive and was 'I') I was truncated and siamesectosized* from my sorrows, cut off from that everdark blight. The sun in a weeklong blackness, cussing out joy ripping rumour mills in half and erecting concrete monuments to truth. A flood of relief, a flood and a reservoir of good ideas I'd never considered, a single swallow speeding through thunderstorms alighting under the beams of a gable of fresh painted log cabins in autumn-damp, whistling the migration song, poetry of perseverance and other romanticalia seducing nubile navel-gazelles into misplaced infatuation, but allure-illusion's sweetness is the black-and-white of heightened dramatization, so set my digicam on panorama: alter the settings and cut the flash, distort the pixels, write ‘this is gorgeous gutter-trash'. Ha ha ha, I let me free of the lash. You my protégé passing your accountant certification exam, reading a list of names and finding your own, reading a list long with adjectives that you’ve never known, and finding you, a bumblebee keeper of sanity, a gatekeeper finally letting you by, a reason to believe you can actually fly, a weeklong sigh and balmy sexy jai alai. My my, she knocks on the door, and seconds later we’re rolling the floor. Oh my my.

* an entirely imaginary word

1 comment:

Herself said...

entirely imaginary and yet it makes such sensicalizations