Friday, July 22, 2016

8425. TWO A.M. TRUTH

I was just now thinking it was
too early in the morning, or late
in the night  -  or whatever the
meridian police attest as the 
time  -  for me to be thinking
about anything real. I am
inconsequential. Knowing 
there are people who care
about these things, I am
up to brushing my teeth.
Walking into another room, 
I remain just as vague as
before. I am dissembling
and dripping with savage
fare. Before me now, some
creature in the mirror is
making a gaze of a
challenge anew.
A few nights back, through 
that very window, a Summery
moon kept shaking its bell.
This long night it is gone.
Oh well. I couldn't read that
message anyway and, just as
a million other things, it has 
moved on now along its way.
I should have thought it here was 
different than this. Born with a
common courtesy, by a scream I
alerted the world. Yet, with these
last moments yet mattering, I see
that others do not, and the sickening
surprises of cowards go on. Everywhere.
Everywhere. Even Yankee Stadium
is filled with its fools seeking safety.
Safe space. Their own lazy compunction.
They want to sound alike, and wear the
same thoughts, like some fashion freak
wearing the today-clothing she's just
bought. 'That lecture at the 92nd Street 
Y? It's all I've ever sought.' Oh, Lordy,
I can hear it now. Like a moron
trimming hedges again.

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