3 Scenes | 3 Decades

A quick, insubstantial one while the sleep is away.

Subterranean stale winds
Decades old
As the train rushes in
Ecclesiastical hiss
With half-opened window
whistling conduit like this

Forgive me my pig-in-trough digressions
Accounting for little, compensating for a lot
Living with untruths

Loving clumsily

Indulging in joyless chemical pleasures

A Brave New Monday

A philosopher once told me there was something beyond sex

(Not sure if prudish or asexual)
I laughed.
Then the bonds burst.
Then the insurrectionists,
Then shadow shivers, stutters
Dancing by a bonfire singing Les Mis in the streets
Recorded on smartphone.

Lost to the moment

Wandering.

If you would keep my hand without any illusions.

 

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