A country diner hillside on January evening; moonlit and sullen below southern sky colonnades. The desolate cicada wisps between self-inflicted landscapes of moss and secluded evergreen. Seasonal pastures of manure fertilization and withered daffodil
Tell-tale hymns of tetragrammation, spiritually vacuous in Sunday morning gospel apparel. Flickering highway incantations lull broken rhetoric throughout stale modern cinemas. Border-line automobile amalgamations head windward tonight over silent footbridges off Route 309.
County causalities discourse routine disparagement over 3.2% bocks in sawdust taverns. Local inclinations vent from automatic television-set tutelage. Family-tree silhouettes and living-room portrait picture frames stenciled-in along the pensive ply-wood bric-a-brac .
In our collective backyard shed, enmeshed in cobwebs next to a rusted out tachometer, hollowed-out years of verbal chicanery remain unfulfilled and chaste.
Next to carpeted outlets of old-forgotten lust and electronic signatures, domestic placards read "help me now, I'm eternally lost and perpetually lonely," widely distributed out along the illiterate readership of complaisant socialism.
It's like in 6th grade, being asked out on a date. I liked the idea, but demurely froze when it all mattered.
She was my larkspur that leap-year. Alone in wintry bedrooms of adolescence. Candlelit incense burnt solely aside illumined lava-lamps of soiled coquetry. Racking vivaciously through borrowed time, my dear impetus to personal pain. I played my emotional record with naive conviction.
Ringlet girl in jet-black mascara overtones, smoking mentholated cigarettes on a foster-parent storefront. February threshold froze within darkened perimeters. Lascivious at best, her teenage breasts heaved to complexion incarnadine, her soft tepid breath etched out my soul's canvas below parental bedroom cornices.You clutched her pale fingers reluctantly, anon high school cafeterias of daytime indigestion. Beaten with the inviolable winds that fall around a flagpole. Out in the staff parking lot, perspicacious math teachers take innumerable strides toward unremarkable death and once jump-started engines.
Crimson and burnished, either side of an thin Japanese table, we sat within your neighborhood walls. A ceiling fan blew tobacco smoke drearily in through the grated ducts. A dimpled chin retracted from your feminine face- as a feeble worm fries on a fiery spanner. A mantel clock struck two hours after noon's vulnerable precipice. Ethereal sunbeams stained yellow and orange hues on your tiled kitchen wallpaper.
Outdoors, I once shoved her into muddy puddles of young adulthood alcoholism, onto unnecessary shoulders of vacant city roads. Her tight-fitted jeans worn dank and dirty soaked with cold filthy rainwater.
When I returned home, I could not explain what happened, where she went or what I was.
