Love is a thousand women who fail to amount to one, Peasant seductress with bared shoulders of red dun-colored roads and candle smoke, Who pours down her wet, ungoverned hair, like a fast-fading storm to dry over Aurelian walls, In that dark sneer of sultriness over the sentry-like stillness of ramparts and stone, A wasp in water whose sibilance comes from what the sting makes, Like the upgathered phalanx of spears in the sand, Or the sisters of fate who have coiled their hair as sunset snakes, Her fingertips ***** into me like much-traveled and ancient rain.
The further away we may wander, the closer to the heart our olden days become the people who welcomed us the places we danced the music that still lingers in the air with the love of a dream still shared...
The further away we may wander we love each new adventure never knowing where the road may lead but we will always fondly look back to the many homes our hearts have known and wish upon wish to share our adventures and roads with the people who celebrate our joy...
The further away we may wander, we come to realize places are meant to be left behind but the smiles and loves we found there will forever be part of who we are
I came along to a road block on route 33 there was no traffic so I just rode my electric bike on the shoulder I saw a lot of debris and blood on the road the cops weren't paying attention, so I went closer It appeared to be what was left of a man or a bunch of ground meat with what appeared to be a whole eyeball
with an actual eyebrow
and a shoe
to me, it looked like a left eye
police came running at me and had their hands in their weapons yelling at me to get back
I panicked a little and about rode right through the meaty matter
I made it just a few meters away before I heard them closing in
I got on the ground the one with a voice yelled at me he said something about human remains
I started laughing so diabolically that the voice stopped I'm thinking to myself...
"and I can't go around?"
I laughed continuously and uncontrollably for a good 10 minutes
I must have totally lost my mind this time
I hope so...
I hope so
when I got home later that day, someone told me that they found Kenny dead today
in the middle of route 33
I started snickering...
I broke out into a cackle
I laughed so hard, for so long, that it became very painful
I couldn't stop
my best friend had went through something dreadful
I still say that it didn't look like his eyeball and left eyebrow
then again who am I to say what another man's eyeball and left brow would look like
Perhaps inspiration is the problem. I have always danced with words. Blending syllables and wit Bending sentences at will. Firing ink from a loaded pen. Makes for good imagery. As I flap the pages of this notebook. Dropping tiny daggers with this tongue. Trying to master the craft of symbolism. With sarcasm. Playing with these words like hooked on phonics. Molding them into a scene. Of play on words. With less drama. Maybe even worth less. Like pay-less. As we walk in eachothers shoes. To better understand the roads we travel.