Jan 2016
THE LOST MOMENTS OF CHILDHOOD RETURN
the trees stop running
the hills slow down
the station arrives at the train
he felt if he were to
let go of the tightly held red balloon
he would float away into the forever
the silence settles
upon him like invisible snow
even the noise is quiet
the teacher speaks to him
in visible italics
sarcasm staining the space between them
the teacher shouts in CAPITALS
he cringes in lower case
rubbing himself out
a snowfall of dust
upon the snail's back
sunlight shifts from foot to foot
a sunbeam slices through
the attic's ages
motes pretend they're atoms
the night like
black blotting paper
absorbs him bit by. . .
a yellow brick on a red brick on a
the ** ** ** of Christmas
my tonsils no longer mine
fields dozing
under an unrelenting sun
trees walking in shimmer
the world too big
to pack into the little words
he knew
in the space between
second and second
he sees the world as it is
the trees stop running
the hills slow down
the station arrives at the train
he felt if he were to
let go of the tightly held red balloon
he would float away into the forever
the silence settles
upon him like invisible snow
even the noise is quiet
the teacher speaks to him
in visible italics
sarcasm staining the space between them
the teacher shouts in CAPITALS
he cringes in lower case
rubbing himself out
a snowfall of dust
upon the snail's back
sunlight shifts from foot to foot
a sunbeam slices through
the attic's ages
motes pretend they're atoms
the night like
black blotting paper
absorbs him bit by. . .
a yellow brick on a red brick on a
the ** ** ** of Christmas
my tonsils no longer mine
fields dozing
under an unrelenting sun
trees walking in shimmer
the world too big
to pack into the little words
he knew
in the space between
second and second
he sees the world as it is
These are the 'non-times" or times of no apparent consequences...remembered bits of nothing where the sense of a sense of things and how the world comes to invade my little head...where the thought can think itself but can't express itself in those building blocks of uselessness we call words.
They are of importance only in the fleeting sketch of my me-ness as it encountered a world that grew organically out of the time I was planted in. This is the place between second and second where the world comes into being.
They are of importance only in the fleeting sketch of my me-ness as it encountered a world that grew organically out of the time I was planted in. This is the place between second and second where the world comes into being.
