maybe it's snowing it tokyo maybe it's snowing in omaha and maybe there’s a shortcut tunnel between the two an easy commute thru the center of the earth an inter-dimensional breezeway of the soul a straightaway that stays true and there you are side-stepping two blizzards the long hallway is filled with portraits of dead uncles and other gorgeous goons who stare at you admiring at your shoes antique tables with antique candles and chihuahua zinnias in chinese vases the floor is covered in zebra skin rugs zebras sold separately there’s a gift shop that sells postcards of all your favorite memories (sunshine, razorblade skyline, sunburnt faces eskimo pies melting on a playground) nine for a dollar there’s a waiting room recently repainted and waiting to dry so you have to wait to wait in it that’s ok cause there’s a dumbwaiter that delivers old world newspapers printed on new paper made from reclaimed lumber but the same old news as yesterday there’s a gallery where you are on display where you stick your head into a cage and talk like a parrot (squawk! like a parrot! squawk!) but then something feels wrong something feels sick, oh no, you say where am i? this is not a dusty old museum, it’s a mausoleum it’s a warehouse full of funhouse mirrors center of your soul dead center of gravity where momentum goes to die it’s a prison you run and run but go nowhere and the more you run the more nowhere you go you try to leave but the doors are just painted on you try to sleep it off but wake up three hours before you slept and have to start over you rage at the walls in fast forward and super slow-mo simultaneously feeling like a poet who swore an oath of silence wears a black beret and striped shirt pulling a rope of pure hope catatonic catastrophic chthonic symbol of the dead and your skin feels cerulean and your breath is feathery and your mind feels glassy and your heart starts to foam and you don’t want to search for yourself inside yourself anymore cause a hole inside a hole is dangerous and ugly and unholy and it’s still snowing in tokyo still snowing in omaha and probably six foot deep and blowing sideways in rome and there’s a banjo in your pocket but you don’t know how to play it
note: i think i should get credit for using the word “mime” even though i didn’t use it… i mimed it =) just kidding.
posted for shay’s word garden word list
posted for the sunday muse #241
jalopy dreams 