Rooms and doorways, I have presumed delicate flowers of marvelous grace and feminine beauty in. Dust-filled hallways and stale furnishings, upon domesticated settlements. Along winding roads I have perished, making veritable pit-stops. Chambermaids and Innkeepers greet me as a sordid migrant. My aged hands firmly placed into the fragile lining of my fluorescent windbreaker.
Modernly, caressing sunlit afternoons upon laborious perimeters. Stationary, the pillars assemble remote corners of the establishment. Incandescent light beams of medieval descent. Pouring a stiff drink, then lighting a Parliament.
Frivolous clowns seen pondering enlightenment in village jungles, obtuse triangles at the neighborhood plaza, made up faces embellishing seeing-eye-dogs, stalling on park benches beside city fountains. Gathering spare change in torn angry pockets, hear my language perspire from the roof of my mouth, tongue unfurled, speaking sordid verses and phrases of pointless lust and monotonous love affairs, all in vain.
They were all in vain.
Marveling at the proximity of humanity in paragraphs.
My epitaph shall read "He preferred to be cremated but nobody listened".
We still walk as if there was a reason.
A reason to share something, a reason to find out
if anyone was paying any attention to you.
knocking on Satan's door,
waiting patiently
for an answer.
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