There is a Place for You

Today, I settled by the verge of the bed, searching for a resolution or any new substance to the poems that had been scribbled on dry fresh-wipes, and stored in a box with a roll of sheets containing old handwritings of literature tucked beside, held in the clutch of a friendship band that colorfully wriggles. Now that I read it, it hardly qualifies as literature and I read it now with downier eyes, eyelids drowsy in a young haze. The footloose howls of experience, heading a closing verve alongside the dark margins that are festooned by new recognitions, and regrets, and wistful thinking that perfects a deception of marveling traits, and sparks a chain of events and sequences, which are reminiscent of hill rides, and souvenir gift shops. ‘Whoosh’ goes a sheet out of a hand slippery with spilt milkshakes, and the sole of the shoe on which it falls has been deranged by mud from the rocky beach of Portofino, and has kissed the cold of Moscow. I think a little dream of people, happy people, and old men raging on their roaring lounge chair, aching, breaking, falling down, darkness hiding the double floors out of which they storm, like in a noir movie. We’re all in a game together, and some of us look highly at the lights, some stares stay level to each other’s, and I bet on everything, teething behind a sofa, legs swept off, imagining all that lives forever or dies trying, and perishes in a race to the quilting move of sand by a beach, or a gliding, innocent pebble dropped at the tip of a pulpit mountain, toward an abyss, going endlessly in the tunnel of a body, onward and on, forever and ever.

It’s a pretty day, warm…

Published by

Watt

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

54 thoughts on “There is a Place for You”

  3. a psychological hellishness attitude to the interminable sphere of motivation experienced more or less or just in as much to color that universe out of nowhere by following just the prospected dose for getting in a spiral… yours

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

  6. Such a great image that bound life’s writings and journeys together with a colourful and wiggly friendship band. Am I right to think you have woven a feeling of innocence and even naivety within this? Another excellent write Watt. I’m a fan!

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

  8. I sometimes look at my older work, like when I was in my teens, and my writing still bears witness to how I feel today. Hopeful and yearning. I smile at the foot’s print, and coffee-stained pages, remembering how this all came about. I think when we are old, we will be like that man in the chair you wrote about! What a wonderful feeling! Beautiful post, Watt! Happy weekend to you! 🙂

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

  13. Keep your colourful wriggles close
    by the verge of misadventure …
    but the dark margins even closer.
    There is ever an abyss
    There is forever a gift shop vulture.
    As the lyrics of the Wiggles transcend
    to the apex of post-modern culture.
    In the awe of all as the pebbles fall.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. I mostly tried to build a sense in this one, “shoes deranged with mud” shows a characteristic, the colorful wriggly friendship band, the teething behind a sofa while everyone goes on with a game, kind of the construction of a character. Hope this clears something up.

      Liked by 3 people

      Reply

  17. I loved the juxtaposition of the last, simple, lovely line, with the whirlwind preceding it. That made me smile.
    “quilting move of sand by a beach” – for some reason this was like a slow motion moment in all of the rapid movement my reading was caught up in. Very cool.

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

Leave a comment