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Everyone There Made Complete A**es of Themselves at the Automat
Contributed by
Adam_Gaucher
on
Monday, 3rd March 2003 @ 07:00:00 PM in AEST
Topic:
PoemsonBeauty
|
And he was wearing these light
brown shoes with a pair of very
black pants. I mean, this is
something I just cannot accept!
I didn't do anything about it.
Movie cameras. Hard-living criminals; and
Porn girls, looking right at me. O if
only I could've set down that ugly
paranoia! Instead I recalled old Mr.
Bojangles, and the conversation continued:
"You know I don't believe in cups?"
he asked.
"Oh yeah?" I responded, "Why's that?"
"I'm afraid they cheat gravity," he said.
"Fascinating," I added, "So, the faucet is
right out then too, yes?"
"Most certainly," he confirmed, "every day I
walk twenty miles east, then slip my
tongue into the virgin Mississippi."
I took a sip, "That's quite the
jaunt my friend."
"Yes," he smiled, "and most refreshing."
After looking about I figured I
should stop talking crazy to myself. I'd
have brought the necessities, but my
mind doesn't work that way. Things are always
in the future, they're always coming, but
somehow they never seem to finally get there. I
put the razor blades back on the shelf.
I felt I didn't deserve a hairless body after all.
The sandwiches and applesauce were
passed around like some, fantastic ritual.
The first in line didn't want saliva
dripping from their bread, and the last
were hungry and poor enough not to
care anyway, so what happened was
everyone there made complete asses of themselves
at the automat where the machines proved
more intelligent. I couldn't hold it
against them though. They didn't know we
were in Russia.
It was around that time when
I had discovered that the sky really was
blue. Or was it green? I don't
remember. It's been a while since I've
looked at the sky. My colouring
books seem to convince me that it's drab
with nothing much to look at, so I sold the
rights to Nature for a cup of
coffee and a good conversation at
Denny's. That was the night I had
left a box of crayons as a tip for the
waitress. It was up to her to evaluate
how much they were really worth. I
sure hope she enjoyed them.
Sometimes when things are over, you
simply walk back into the cliché "vast
barren wasteland" known as here and
there. Then there are those times when
things begin, and the here and there
walks into you.
Copyright ©
Adam_Gaucher
... [
2003-03-03 19:00:00]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Everyone There Made Complete A**es of Themselves at the Automat
(User Rating: 1 )
by Butterat_Zool on
Thursday, 13th March 2003 @ 12:16:08 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
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| Reading this poem felt, to me, like drifting (floating) through a long, dark tunnel, not really putting effort in to think about where you're going or where you've been, but rather, trusting the straightness of the tunnel and believing that it will let you out at the exact spot that you need to be let out. And i must say, it worked. The pleasant warmth of boredom has tickled my fancy long enough to invoke commentary. Good write. Keep it up! Butterat Zool. |
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