Immersed in thinking about age
thinking about thinking
shoulders seem to stiffen,
worsen each year. OUCH!
My uninterested moving finger
clicks, pings, crackles away
President Reagan's facial-histeronic-gesture
He shimmers, waivers,shrivals away
into a diminutive BB hole
in the center of my TV screen
until nothing
but a slightly hissing grey tube
Making a paper plane
out of newspaper,
small black letters
spell out S-A-L
which is the beginning of the word Salvador,
that eventually meets the dug-out
paper portion of the cockpit
Looking out the window,
three stories up
between locusts and spruce
on thirteenth street,
watching potential victims
trying awfully hard to find
the right vein with ***** needles,
much too strung out
to fully hide their activities
in half hidden alley ways and small hidden streets
An old transvestite
with sad eyes, pucker lips,
looking like "" Whatever happened to Baby Jane"
with two exaggerated
round ruby painted marks
on both cheeks,
slightly wobbles on skinny ankles and heels to match,
stridently he calls forth, "Hi girlfriend"
to his look alike mirror image
just across the street
"Pop" the old provincial street wino,
trying to act as though
he was still a teenager
wearing an old Afro;
a bit demented, he acts out
his cliche' role, half babbling
half representations of life,
trying to sell almost everything
salavaged from trashday
dumpsters
Then tossing this seemingly innocous
hand folded paper plane out of the window,
a sudden horrible gripping feeling
overwhelms me but yet of relief,
Imagining tossing
this very plane,
that I held in my trembling hand
contained an all
devastating device underneath...
THEN...BOOM!!!
MUSHROOM SOUP
THE END OF MISERY...
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
Immersed in thinking about age
thinking about thinking
shoulders seem to stiffen,
worsen each year. OUCH!
My uninterested moving finger
clicks, pings, crackles away
President Reagan's facial-histeronic-gesture
He shimmers, waivers,shrivals away
into a diminutive BB hole
in the center of my TV screen
until nothing
but a slightly hissing grey tube
Making a paper plane
out of newspaper,
small black letters
spell out S-A-L
which is the beginning of the word Salvador,
that eventually meets the dug-out
paper portion of the cockpit
Looking out the window,
three stories up
between locusts and spruce
on thirteenth street,
watching potential victims
trying awfully hard to find
the right vein with ***** needles,
much too strung out
to fully hide their activities
in half hidden alley ways and small hidden streets
An old transvestite
with sad eyes, pucker lips,
looking like "" Whatever happened to Baby Jane"
with two exaggerated
round ruby painted marks
on both cheeks,
slightly wobbles on skinny ankles and heels to match,
stridently he calls forth, "Hi girlfriend"
to his look alike mirror image
just across the street
"Pop" the old provincial street wino,
trying to act as though
he was still a teenager
wearing an old Afro;
a bit demented, he acts out
his cliche' role, half babbling
half representations of life,
trying to sell almost everything
salavaged from trashday
dumpsters
Then tossing this seemingly innocous
hand folded paper plane out of the window,
a sudden horrible gripping feeling
overwhelms me but yet of relief,
Imagining tossing
this very plane,
that I held in my trembling hand
contained an all
devastating device underneath...
THEN...BOOM!!!
MUSHROOM SOUP
THE END OF MISERY...
The mercy killing by imagination had nothing to do with those two characters in my writing. The were enjoyable to watch but it was the drugs
