Friday, March 03, 2006

backyard prophets

roll in the grass you seeded as a child. then, wrapping your fingers around a mug of hot tea that you won't drink, dissect the blades. determine the age of each cell through rigorous poking and prodding. professionalize yourself. suit up and tighten the collar on your shirt. if you're good enough they'll feed you too much. the girl in the back seat of some other guy's car rubs her eyes. she has been knitting time. she incorporates pearls and gems that she stole from others on her way up north. the man returns to the driver's seat, handing over pints of whole milk and black tea--all the bodily fluids. you watch them leave. you watch the next couple pull in, fill up, pass themselves off as something bigger and better than they really are. you're driving home. only, you can't get there by car.

1 comment:

Mr. Matos said...

Oh, wow, you deleted my comment?

On what grounds?