often play practical jokes on one. Another and this morning a mid-winter tractor-trailer woke me up, or accurately, the sound of air brakes scattered my troubled slumber. I-d disengaged all things electric, struggling for 'good sleep, the real deal, rest', having at least partially laid out a slightly-more-than-adequate 'neatly arranged suit case ready' and duffel bag yawned folded set to go ... there-d be a concert in Central Park for sure in late April. There was an odd sense, while the visible white hand denied access to the left of center website, at least on the remote, and as anticipated the old fashioned spaghetti had hit the fan.
the air horn across the way made me peer out through the 249 or so birch trees and now it was finally light enough to make out the freshly painted blue insignia on the winter dirty burnished trailer....Rilke Lines.
I threw on the power switch, throttling down, and all my my machines more or less ignited. The fax stuttered like Charles Lamb and red valentine paper magically reset itself. I-d slept in my sturdiest of coats (more of a sleeping bag with sleeves) and now I took off my buckskin mittens. I warm my hands together as the gas furnace thundered to life. Supposedly I-d walk all the way out to the highway as the singing tractor trailer loudly idling had started air horn 'jokes': dah dah da da dah dah.
You may know the sound like when writers growing up with typewriters would try and mimic sounds. As the other day I-d typed sonic boom.
And I didn-t say:
could have though, and I want you to know that I know that it nosily crossed your mind. Like your best idea and then you look up and the cream colored replica truck is stopped dead in front of you. Or whatever was on your mind when the deer smashed through your passenger window, the road slippery as though only snails silvered to and fro for a few hundred years. Maybe not gently. Come on now. Fess up.
You thought that: tickle tickle dandelion beneath your chin...
No it-s not funny. Can-t you see the poet needs rest? So I sauntered through the greyed morn down toward the road, ignoring an odd stomach pain (did I swallow a pit? Olive? Apricot? Peach? Sesaemiamarie seeds? Have current events done nothing but a great sharing of diverticulitis? Was I being punished for cancelling my subscription to Philosopher's Monthly? For still avoiding Dontay?
I lit the wrong end of a Marlboro Light, or was it a Winston Black? Cursed the day, and thought like I always do when I light the filter, I walked toward the truck thinking of that scene in To Sir with Love, you remember that? When the 'kids' lit the kotex on fire? Why would there be a fireplace in a school room? And the January thaw teasingly hinted at continuing.
Shut that damn thing off. I'm supposed to deliver this to you. Why are you dressed like sad hobo the clown, I asked then pivoted waving on Angelo the sheriff who secretly reminded me of Rod Serling with a too-black dose of Grecian Formula. Whatupdog? This is a load of paper, the driver said, coming down from the red cab. I'm supposed to deliver it to James. Who's it from?
The driver stood there flipping back her manifest and then yanked out a nice bond parchment and the sheriff shined his light as none of us saw well this morning after seven days of disaster and wall to wall carnage while outdoors the clear skies and sun had been blinding. Dark shades, ouch! Just aways away, where the road was more of a synonym of silver, certainly not greyed with dew and first light, two crows --- clawed, pecked and bit, their legs neutral sticks --- desecrating the bloated flank of a fawn.
The note said:
James, here is more paper than you can count.
Please! Sit down and write that story about Andy Pafko's
somersault catch that June night in 1956.
***This is an interesting post. rated.
JANUARY 20, 2010 01:34 PM
So glad you made it Caroline; it means alot to me, it really does. Rather an exhaustive series of tragic events.
Peace to you and yours!
JANUARY 20, 2010 06:31 PM
What an interesting style you have - looking forward to more.
JANUARY 30, 2010
***JANUARY 17, 2010 8:51PM