Sunday, September 25, 2016

"Stray Memories Float in Like the Dust Motes She Claims We Are"

#0138. The secret place is softly lit and cavernous and dreary and dark and I want to feel how I felt so long ago sitting in my car in the rain under the streetlamp waiting for the doors to open. The peacefulness and the anxiety. The dread. The monarchs. Her Venom just waiting silent for the footsteps. Murmured solitude. There is an altercation coming. In the past I can feel it. The peacefulness shattered. Inept and wandering. Grating. I want to feel how I felt so long ago listening to cassette tapes on a bus taking me to nowhere I knew.

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