i walk through this thrift shop as an old and withering man i see the products of a lifetime and i imagine them in my hands
that lamp would've fit nicely on the table in our living room and that blouse in the corner that i see my darling, she had the same one as her these old and worn out books were once my constant entertainment they inspired me to write and to travel and now they've been banished to the wastebins
metal castings, music to listen to, movies, denim jackets, photographs of people long since dead, paintings and mirrors and gadgets, hats, pants, shirts, shoes, neckties in every color somebody else lived their life with these and soon i'll be giving up mine like all the others
we all spent our lives buying things and wasting precious time so i know that someday soon all my things will be bought by you
I quit smoking cigarettes. Romantic ideations of death. Thinking of the paper taste, now brings me the same enjoyment. Balmy, blue summer nights. Cradled my audience of stars. Laughing at the shape of waste, they smile down upon me these days. I don't know why I quit. I don't know why I started. Desperation. Depression. Emulation? My grandpa, he waved his hand with his fingers around bones, tracing orange stories with his dead light, of his would have been adventures would he have had the time.
I. I. I.
I don't have to die soon! I don't have to re tire to my tomb to
spin a tale.
I've been so blue. Out of the loop with my body & my mind, but,
I still have the time.
I've been so stressed. Forgot I could depress the stress button just fine,
On my own!
Now, when I have ***, I have the breath for pleasure: