The material was stretched tight deep furrows in the red and black pulled across your shoulder blades so severely but you were all soft edges. The blunt edge of a 2B pencil gently shadowing in the crease where stomach met hip bones and warm. It was lovingly done.
i had an uncle named Sol who was a born failure and nearly everybody said he should have gone into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like **** Itself which may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle
Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable of all to use a highfalootin phrase luxuries that is or to wit farming and be it needlessly added
my Uncle Sol’s farm failed because the chickens ate the vegetables so my Uncle Sol had a chicken farm till the skunks ate the chickens when
my Uncle Sol had a skunk farm but the skunks caught cold and died and so my Uncle Sol imitated the skunks in a subtle manner
or by drowning himself in the watertank but somebody who’d given my Uncle Sol a Victor Victrola and records while he lived presented to him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a scruptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and i remember we all cried like the Missouri when my Uncle Sol’s coffin lurched because somebody pressed a button (and down went my Uncle Sol
I am the architect of my own bell-jar. I designed it myself, took away the edges to leave only smooth curves. Meticulous work, done almost lovingly but not quite.
Here, one could get comfortable, immune to the waves that crash around you. Of course you can see them, those great walls of water, yet you are defended in your fortress of glass borne not of sand but of life's consequences; biological quirks.
I saw my bell-jar rise around me and now can almost call it home. I frequent it so often; I know every inch of it, all of its reflected imperfections, and while it may hollow, cold, I understand it. Both shelter and prison to begin and to end with me.
What a thing it is to claim a smile. To grant command to ranks of muscles ever-ready, but rarely used, to produce such radiance that means I must turn away lest I be blinded. Regardless of all other commitments I lay claim to that smile of yours if only unofficially if only just for now.