The record spins, previously unplayed. It scratches so hard that you wonder if your diamond split.
Origami of viynl.
You thought you knew these songs; but they sting you: hard enough that tears of black wax fall from your ducts.
~
A hunchback beast prostrated before the barren tree. A white skeleton of a trunk. Threadbare yet beholden. Wishing to jump into the river.
You feel hungry.
You find yourself in a parking lot, on a rowboat. The sun beating. You have three choices:
1. The black asphalt that draws the sun into you. Nagual.
2. The white side path that reflects the sun onto you. Tonal.
3. Those yellow dividing lines, too thin in which to seek refuge; but, meant to hold you between. Intent.
In suspense, as a harp scales up; a piano scales down.
~
The thin woman told you, “I love the heat. I sit. I play my phone game. I work my word search book. I stand up and walk. Then, I do it all over.”
You run. You age. You sit. You listen.
I remember the purple grass.
WrittenCasey 