Fatigued and neurotic, impressive thoughts implode beneath a vast concrete wall of echo; while many commanding footsteps ascend the weekday courthouse entrance. A monumental marble staircase unravels before the required presence of uninspired lawyers and uneducated petty-criminals. I was an innocent bystander before initiating a private war on myself. A darkened blue afternoon sky stretches above my worn countenance; where cigar-shaped clouds immerse and transgress off a grim faded skyline. Ageless tricks played at the drop and jingle of many a-brass button. Expensive neckties and forlorn academy belt-buckles. This is the era of necessary inconvenience; with too much aggravation. Tell-tale assault charge stories manifest hourly in this justified perimeter. Spend your hard-earned weekly money on my jailhouse commissary books before my arrival. I'll read up on legal terminology and prosecution loopholes. Abandoned lovers leave your degenerate husbands behind in these steel-celled quarters to reap what they sowed. Leftover baggage; unanswered years of excruciating burden. Unfortunate alcoholic lingo terminated with the abrupt summoning of dog food tray lunch-trays.
Send springtime flowers to my predicted grave burial-plot before I retire. In brisk autumnal weather; where field-side highway wind-towers sway to the declining wind of an embalmed evening. In dead-end streets where neighborhood vultures sleep in hope of brighter days and vibrant hours. The nocturnal serenading stars of coming freight-train nights transcend counterfeit moonbeams in soft steady anticipation. Residential mothers and cruelly beaten housewives fry battered eggs in placid morning; while the jagged piercing of annoyingly narrated radio commercials shriek at an ungodly hour. Waking up to random kitchen audio, the thunderous clanging of stove-top frying pans sizzling with pork grease. The fat of centuries plagued my ex-wife with unexpected love-handles. A dismal moan descends from the next-door upstairs bedroom window. Not even noon yet and the fresh-faced newlywed couple's already at it. Making sensual love amid domestic-relation corridors.
As a teenager in residential purgatory, my temporary lover would come over after her parents went to work. I'd invite her in through living-room-screen doors.. We'd make animated puppy love upon afternoon sofas. Residential portraits would sweat; glazed with the tepid heat that emanated into our household atmosphere. An unnatural poignant aura of chemical scent and modern perfume. No one told me patchouli went out of style back then.Caught in the firm morbid grip of a lazy slumbering summer afternoon. Abandoning old ideals of national icons and suburban baseball diamond-fields. The lackadaisical dirt of adolescence; then months later: a cold November rake in hand, gathering up old pine-needles. Hard love is a lot of hard work. Easy love comes easy to the cold and the needy while caught in the brutal confines of frail deserted Winter. A daily allowance can suffice an adolescent while behaving correctly.
Years later; we recall these delicate incidents amorously: as if we outlived ourselves exponentially. Yearning for the forgiving warmth and maternal understanding of unresolvable childhood. It is mistakable and foolish to get married for these reasons perhaps.
Bubble-gum machine windows align the September Saturday township streets. I find myself at well-awaited peace (for once in my life); experiencing a modern type of serenity. These sidewalk intervals know a wide variety of native footprints; my footsteps seem unfamiliar to them: I am not the same person.
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