I GO FORWARD
I can't remember the vagaries of
this mess, though I turn pages and
keep looking. But what is this book
I keep? Shadows and spectres haunt.
No gold in the world can ever redeem
this hurt. I go forward.
-
Here is the gaunt factory-man who
worked his deadly hours making
auto-parts for Sunday-mechanics
and noontime Masons. Nothing now
but spills of oil on the pavement.
They sink in, eventually absorbed,
but they never disappear. No mere
scouring will ever get them out.
-
You wish to hear me more? I am
a saint in an evil cloak - I can
give you my number, but I don't
have a phone. I close the very
windows at dawn, to keep the
miserable daylight out.
No comments:
Post a Comment