Page XV

Halfway through a year of magical thinking; at retrograde, my piquant receptors appear more besotted than ever. Short of being someone entirely different, perplexity of what is expected of me hemorrhages from mind. Circuitous but not entirely implausible, it is apparent to me that I do not hibernate alone.

Knee-deep within the personal estate of a bankrupted inheritance; I am the desolate keeper. Abandoned commodities play the role of secluded possessions; the mine, the yours, the ours. Dismally, this tragic cast performs upon a stage of invoked sadness; and never falls short of what kerosene and a match could remedy. Although I do embrace dearly, I would barter it all to erase the thought of losing you; even if for just one precious moment.

The more I empty this apartment, the more it resembles our first day of arrival. Upon a fresh homecoming, armfuls of sunlight eagerly anticipated the twain bright-eyed and kindled enthusiasts. It must have all been for the moment, for I could accuse anamnesis for being a devastating punishment; or perhaps I have mistaken the pain for longing. Regardless, the composition of memories is at harsh fault, even for significances you wish to never be forgotten.

Metal, wood, cloth and glass; is that all that remains to stow? The carousel ticks a notch to the left upon the mummification of another object; exposing light through the next transparent memory. No, I suppose a camera cannot be engineered for these sort of things. Nevertheless if the jewel of reminiscence is sought, inherent influence and affectability may be of some caliber.

Page XVI

Fatal embrace, immanence has deceives me. The mask of tragedy justified for an innocent heart; to Hell with the evasive and cliché explanation. Taste scorn as the spiral of transcendence is followed, exhausting every breath up to the very last. She I will find and the gates shall lay in lament, as I drag her back into existence.

Wake now valentine, with a slow augmented stretch. Heated fur from mornings light, the vast reach has been released; from cotton tomb arise. Dearly soft to the whiskers touch, you know a felines agenda was always gentle to occupy. Assuredly with purpose, for mice are far too stubborn to be caught on their own.

Lifeless still? Precarious how some wounds are harder to lick than others. Howbeit, never regret the unveiling of your fresh hiding spot; perhaps it has come time I shared upon you mine.


My winters sentence has expired, but failed to exempt this melancholy expression. An itinerary, to be wed this fair season of spring; deliverance of that unspoken vow had fatefully parted in passing. If growing ancient together stood no chance against kismet, then perhaps an anniversary such as this was only meant to mark the beginning of our story.

On to the tale; the fable of a shell-shocked boy and his invisible lass, a muse to marvel from an insecure distance. Naive to an unforgotten past, timid times beckoned for a salubrious voice; or prospective pen pal. Capable of only diluted drips; the subdued ink found passage down pure parchment paper. Ambiguous as predicted but attractive all the same; just enough to indulge and rattle ones curiosity.

After the clock had finally defeated obscurity; our metrical verses materialized into that very first glimpse, shyly beneath the lower east side lantern. Marvelous as you were, I thought we both carried ourselves ever so well. Comfortable was the opening intention, as I coveted you to be. But for I, mostly awestruck; bewildered to how someone could even give a damn about me. I fretted much and echoes remind me to this day still; counting the endless times my dinner utensils were nervously dropped. Gravity was completely nonsensical.

Was I to be blamed? The pretend poet was defenseless, stumbling for his true locution. Notably, moments like that are missed beyond the measure of words.


Brooklyn brownstones sailed across crooked cobblestones. It was a fine ship, all dressed to the nines; but one that must be abandoned by first morning light. A termites appetite subsisted well, feeding upon what was left of our vessels port and starboard. Ounce for ounce, the captains air-guitar was excluded from the manifest. Yes, it was a frivolous and scot-free talent. Pardon a sailors mouth, but I was pretty fucking good at it.

“I sense much anger in you”, opportunities to quote Yoda are few and far between; but have you ever tried opening a wine bottle with a hammer and a screwdriver? Not recommended. It was the same brute behavior that destroyed our beautiful french doors, not to mention a mass of carpus bone. Excuses bestow me, I’ve got the devil riding my back. Bastard whom spat inferno upon this last supper; gyoza, miso, edamame. It couldn’t possibly taste the same without my sweetest of friends.

It’s difficult to conceive, all of this gathered time; every transcending moment, every month in laborious passing. And to think, I was completely convinced; assured that the only way I was leaving this apartment was in a body bag. Reputably a shallow promise? Lore has it, the eye of the beholder may prefer his afterlife heated.

Thoroughly surveyed, there was no stone left unturned. An intense obligation made sure of leaving nothing behind, mentally recorded visions in particular. Problem is, those memories could only be played back through the interpreter; and a cabin fevered one at that. In ending, I leave tomorrow. Niche to be no longer, I surrender the unanswered questions. Who have I become? Why did I stay so long? And most importantly, what exactly was it that I was waiting for? As it may, totally unintentional; she never did walk back through that door.

So conclusion avast, the time has come; hoist those three sheets to the wind. Be patient, dear apprentice of the stranded. With mast buried in mud, the capsized view shall be ever so breathtaking.

Page XIX

It was the renouncement of a christian name; replacement of the heir, an inoperable stigma portrayed the sole beneficiary. Similar to most prologues, the trek began aboard a basic automobile. Consignment lullabied by miles of motor hum; an adolescent’s doze had awoken within the achromatized walls of involuntary confinement. Whereabouts played truant, for the absence of bread crumbs laid hindrance on any thoughts of escape. Insurgency towards the advocate ran amuck, detesting an evaluation term set by authority for the apparent lack thereof. In correction to a misguided teenaged maelstrom, wings of the innocence could only spread unclipped; and effortlessly blame trouble for being far too cheap and easy.

“Refute the cure for boredom,” claimed the rabid monkey, as he mischievously dangled atop ceiling pipes from above. Customarily, conduct as such adjudged a one-way ticket to the rubber room; which unlike popular belief of being padded, was simply not. Void of any plush comfort, the space was carpeted head-to-toe with a thick woven fabric; inadequate in absorption, as the pungent stench of human excrement was always prevalent.

Across cubic solitude, was the bedlamite’s porthole; wrought iron forged in intricate structure, as panes of an oriel-styled window stood tall. Beyond this, only prismatic light could exist. Invigorating slices of razor sunshine obscured all vision and optics, misconstruing those sought-after meadows of sovereignty; they would always remain undistinguished. A high tolerance for captivity was in development; it ran parallel with palpable moments of peace. And in due time, czars of innovation sat admirably. Once the mechanism bolted from behind with metallic click, the surrealistic world became ours for the taking.

I was a restless youth, to put it mildly, and hanging from the pipeline seemed like an amusing exercise in rebellious atrocity; at least up until the day my old roommate tried it. Escorted by an unyielding bed sheet knot, the vertical free-fall between a duet of dressers had snapped the buoyancy of two once very proud parents. In spite of evidence that governing a man’s prerogative has restrictions, I would imagine pink-slips for the administration became rather abundant. In return, the blind eye was immediately turned and all habitants were rewarded with a grace period of total anarchy. In regard to an individual and his personal liability, this was no cry-for-help; it was none other than a brilliantly executed exit strategy.

Present day, misplacement describes best the vertigo of waking in strange places. A manageable nausea up till the artless moment of realization that this unfamiliar berth is your new home. With rheum wiped twice, wormholes gently come to focus; it appears I have bartered the antique burial ground for an empyrean cosmic string. Physique at relative rest, cognition jounces through antagonizing coils of deja vu; traveling to a time when belts and shoelaces were as lost as I was.

Page XX

This false philogynist feels the need to apologize, as for the harlot you’ve been hanging around bores me; but then again, I’m not the one fucking her. Perhaps the heat is causing hallucinations. Rituals of self-doubt require a bit more than just dotting the tees and crossing your eyes. What do I know? I was overly drawn to the one marooned adrift lady heels. Preen to the scene, as her floral skirt always attended the mosh fashionably late and slightly overdressed.

Picture an idea, the one that yearns to be missed; is it impossible to long for what one has never experienced? Predictions and expectations can often appear akin; suppositionally I’ve had my fair share of both. But then came the night God pissed cold rain; and I, baptized in vinegar as she fell just shy of three and a half decades. A debris disposition became as bitter as the pill swallowed; proscribing an entire world and all of its self-righteous preservation. By the same measure, I beseech; mail a post card the day you earn your wings.

Okay killer, victorious as you are; copilots and I; we shall travel the path of least resistance. Endowed with mort-waking engine and thunderbird-like wings, address us horizontally upon our fiberglass corpse. Perhaps there is more to this grease monkey than zippos, balisongs, and an unholy flask vacated by noon. With bohemian nation perched on the sideline, replete in its circle jerk amiss and tattooed bookworms; this convertible continental intends to abscond, rubbernecking credence as it is shrunk by rear-view mirror.

Page XXI