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sansara-justinovichPoems
for fifty dollars you park your car inside one of these garages. I drive and drive and drive, knowing that I will not have a place outside those garages. I spent fifty dollars on a purple v-neck, orange crew cut striped shirt and ten socks; it was my birthday money. I’m going to go inside restart the laundry so it will be warm. My apartment complex has speed bumps before each module to slow the traffic and as I go over one, looking at a darkened figure standing in the garage, taking a plastic bag from their trunk—face obscured by darkness-- I realize what a crude portrait humanity is. Trapped on this prison planet—what was our crime? In that moment, bobbing head I thought of love and how unobtainable its object is; then I realized only people who pursue love are capable of murderous rampage killings. I thought about how safe my anonymous neighbor was and how lucky someone would be to know what saints walk among them. I forget that my bright shirts were bought to attract someone so I could attempt to love. It feels better to be falsely imprisoned --to be a saint-- than to know ****** and love are parked inside of you. The dark figure takes out whatever's stopping you.
0
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
$50
for fifty dollars you park your car inside one of these garages. I drive and drive and drive, knowing that I will not have a place outside those garages. I spent fifty dollars on a purple v-neck, orange crew cut striped shirt and ten socks; it was my birthday money. I’m going to go inside restart the laundry so it will be warm. My apartment complex has speed bumps before each module to slow the traffic and as I go over one, looking at a darkened figure standing in the garage, taking a plastic bag from their trunk—face obscured by darkness-- I realize what a crude portrait humanity is. Trapped on this prison planet—what was our crime? In that moment, bobbing head I thought of love and how unobtainable its object is; then I realized only people who pursue love are capable of murderous rampage killings. I thought about how safe my anonymous neighbor was and how lucky someone would be to know what saints walk among them. I forget that my bright shirts were bought to attract someone so I could attempt to love. It feels better to be falsely imprisoned --to be a saint-- than to know ****** and love are parked inside of you. The dark figure takes out whatever's stopping you.
MMXII
sansara-justinovich
Written by
sansara-justinovich
American
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
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