Tag: the sunday muse

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