IMBROGLIO
Everything was hazy, journeying back.
Maybe my arm had broken off in your hand,
maybe my Mom was in that sling, maybe you
carried the breakfast we never had. The entire
world was washed in a sepia light, things were
moving slowly, in some staccato fashion I'd
not seen before. We'd hatched some plans as
we trekked, but - again - we already knew
nothing would come of them. That old miner's
camp at the bottom, in the valley where the
Perse ran into the Boto, the place where the
warriors lived : a sort of invalid camp for
old, wounded knights and horsemen. So many
men, in one place, with only one eye. I was
almost wishing it was a nightmare instead.
The horses whinnied as we walked along.
Ah, the slice of life, the places where people
live, the mildewed paint, the peeling stucco.
All those tarnished incidentals of an old,
tired existence. A hundred small
villages, broken at the core.
Everything was hazy, journeying back.
Maybe my arm had broken off in your hand,
maybe my Mom was in that sling, maybe you
carried the breakfast we never had. The entire
world was washed in a sepia light, things were
moving slowly, in some staccato fashion I'd
not seen before. We'd hatched some plans as
we trekked, but - again - we already knew
nothing would come of them. That old miner's
camp at the bottom, in the valley where the
Perse ran into the Boto, the place where the
warriors lived : a sort of invalid camp for
old, wounded knights and horsemen. So many
men, in one place, with only one eye. I was
almost wishing it was a nightmare instead.
The horses whinnied as we walked along.
Ah, the slice of life, the places where people
live, the mildewed paint, the peeling stucco.
All those tarnished incidentals of an old,
tired existence. A hundred small
villages, broken at the core.
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