Wee-Small

A desolate cycle of aeroplane chimes above in the sky, amidst clouds cooling on the calm of the hazy moonlight, and skateboarders settle at the edge of the pier, rolling joints, while the night is gored by the glimmer of red neon dive bars. And I watch a car flirting with the traffic lights, blinking in and out on the metallic pole, winking one by one in romantic rhythms.

The city is all but a silhouette, and the sea erases it hips, and brings out the neck with a killing anticipation of advocating life against the art. The air slips in the gaps between the wet wooden floors, cracked with time that went begetting change, and besetting visions, it hides someplace for me to breathe in while I’m still in lonesome stasis, and while I am still in the cover of glowing lampshade, reading a novel that series the name of despondency, fetishizing the senses with honey-colored memories that echo in a sequence of sadness unique to pensively wrought minds.

I see that the room wants to keep me, and the breeze wants to breathe me. I can almost feel the free hold, as my soul rambles thru the fashionable show rooms, and storefronts, coasting down in inescapable kiosks selling fruits, and juices, guns and roses. Or as I sit away at a desk writing what I read, the dim dark falling over my head. All the while, whistling, thinking about what I saw from the balcony, and then swiveling in the chair, still thinking. Thinking.

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Watt

It's all a matter of rust and shine, to serve a distinction between to have and to have not.

81 thoughts on “Wee-Small”

    1. Don’t judge me, but I kind of mixed New York and Rome to come up with this sort of place. Like the storefronts were derived from Cola Di Rienzo, and the Pier from some part of an American movie.

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      1. I love it! I envisioned cities we’ve visited—with all the vendors. And the hotel room—could totally feel it—brought back lots of happy memories traveling…
        Are you from Rome?
        Looking forward to the next visual tour…

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      8. I don’t know. I haven’t been—yet. Maybe. Yes, an old city—with a fortress on a hill…near a forest. Definitely a forest. And a lake, river that flows to the sea…Black Sea.

        Now you got me thinking of some of the places we traveled and visited over the years. They’re all my favorite! I especially loved Nepal—“never ending peace and love”. But I also loved India. ‘I’ll never do it again” haha! Some wonderful memories and beautiful people.
        Tell me, what is it about Rome for you?

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      9. Everything was so eternal. So much. And nobody made me feel like I was different, simply because I spoke a little of their language. Every where you turn, there’s something blocking your troubles- posters, archaic walls, shops, crowds beckoning enjoyment, Roman architecture. I felt to myself: there is a place for you. And it’s so awesome…

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      10. Wow. I’ve never thought about Rome in this way. Yes, speaking even just a bit of the language makes such a difference. We found the same to be true on our travels. For sure—Roman architecture. “…a place for you.” That right there says it all!

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      11. Plus, the city is modern too. And archaic at the same time. If it didn’t belong in my hood.memory section, I’d be jealous of saturated neurons.

        P.S Wow, how was Nepal?

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      12. Jealousy sure is interesting, no? I’ve been thinking about this lately—which is a more powerful emotion? Jealousy or hate?
        Nepal…we were there almost 20 years ago. Seems like just yesterday the memories are still so vivid. So many happy memories—even the ones where I was sick, so sick—lying in a bed in a Buddhist hotel in Patan (just south of Kathmandu) everything in the room was white…and peaceful. I slept for three days in that room. Yep, many happy memories.

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  7. A beautiful, symmetric construction: tightly wound at the first with the noise of airplanes and the stabbing red of neon lights not to speak of the skateboarders dashing down to their rendevous at the pier……

    and then unravelling, like a ball of twine, but smoothly, until we get to the masterfully placed – right in the center of the piece: “The air slips in……..it hides someplace for me BREATHE in…” Breathe as in a little urban oasis where one can pause and take note in the midst of this urban noise and flash.

    Until we see – no more stabbing red or loud sounds, no more urban flash, but an acceptance on the part of the narrator that his/her breath CAN BE at ease with the ambiance of the rooms in which s/he has arrived IF s/he wishes to be at ease.

    But s/he does not quite wish this. S/he “almost feels the free hold”.

    Taking note myself, I have to say that I do not want the narrator to be too much at ease (selfishly)

    because interesting writing comes – it seems often out of that gap between noise and quiet and between the self breathing and the self acknowledging that the world breathes. In there.

    A lovely piece, Watt. Just so. Not a word unnecessary or superfluous. Sarah

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    1. Thank you, Sarah. I wanted to portray a person who is fastened to the loneliness of life, but realizing that it was only one aspect, and that he could always escape his position with the strangers outside- who aren’t so nice but “People are Strange, *only* when you’re a stranger.

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      1. Loneliness is a killer. Because she died, there are many Toni Morrison quotes going around. One of them is that at a certain point, the beauty of the world becomes enough. You don’t have to photograph or paint it or write about it. It is enough.

        Must have been a quote late in her life. But I appreciate the quote because it shifts the emotions from the I who feels lonely to the world in whose endless wonders the I incorporates itself in a process of being profoundly found….Sarah

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      2. Just there between the I breathing and the I acknowledging that the room wants to keep you and the breeze wants to breathe you, just there there is no loneliness, Poet. But the narrator’s soul, in this piece, started rambling again…..Sarah

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  8. There is an electricity within this that picks my mind up and does not let it go. Even after I reached the end, I am still buzzing from it. The image that you created is so detailed and vivid, I can picture it clearly and want to place myself within it. This is excellent and I think your writing just keeps getting better and better.

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    1. I’m glad that the details didn’t subtract anything from the image I wanted to set in stone. It’s like when you shrink back and wonder “Who gives a shit about anything?” And you wonder that genuinely and not in apathy. A pretty lonely feeling.

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      1. Yes that is a lonely feeling . I can honestly say that the details did not detract – I feel like you more and more are writing poems that are both cohesive and coherent but still have plenty of artistic flair and vivid wandering. It’s a mix that I love.

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      2. Thank you!! I feel like poetry is either too heady or high, or chesty and often bland, low. A mix is just what is needed for them to sing off the screen.

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      3. Yes, you are so right…. And so well put. Poetry needs a charge, but not one that has such high voltage that makes it incomprehensible. Your ‘wattage’ here is just perfect (sorry but I HAD to say it like that!).

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  20. Dear Watt, not only should you always write you should speak. Speak all of these we read and all of the other beautiful things I’ve no doubt your mind holds. You are another level of everything.

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      5. Lol, I think it was yes, my work. I believe it was the entire thing put together. It seemed as though you briefly told me you liked what I did and now we were done talking. Haha
        Which of course, was fine. No one has to talk to me or even want to for that matter. It was nice you shared what you did ❤️ And then you moved on lol.

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  21. Oh wow. Love. Also that image reminds me of Jim Morrison. I was a huge obsessed fan of his in my teens and twenties. He wrote his through’s as thru’s, like you, Watt. That poetry book, what was it called. The New Creatures. I visited his grave when I was 19. His head was missing. But there were many of us there, happily in the depths of despair, jubilant in hive mourning. Strangers united.

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