Day Break

With respect to penmanship and in regards to postage.


Some men climb from underneath
Imaginary mile by imaginary mile.
One imaginary step after another.
One brick by two bricks.


This is terrible… I remember thinking.
Two in one day? In one hour?
This is terrible.
I carry it with me every day.


We climb
Who knew the top could be so lonely?
And who is going to know?
That’s right.


Violet delights
Independence Day weather.
Why are you so difficult?
Just like you could let your roots get tied up in knots
And they rot.


I run imaginary miles on imaginary roads. You’ve been on the receiving end of this once before. I let you see it. I don’t feel bad about it. I try my hand at writing things sometimes. That might be some sort of a pun. Hands and writing. These are just my thoughts.


With respect to penmanship and in regards to postage.


Here we go again, same old shit again.


Some of them bind to sword and sheath.
Imaginary trial by imaginary trial.
One imaginary step after a brother.
One kick by two kicks.


This is absolute… I remember writing.
To end one day with one flower.
This is absolute.
I drag it with me every pace.


We’re blind.
Who knew the top would be so bony?
And who is going to show?
That’s wrong.


Heliotrope delights.
July 4th weather.
Why am I so difficult?
Just like you could get your roots tied up with shots.
And they are not.




I run imaginary miles on imaginary roads. A book no one reads. A movie no one watches. A candle no one lights. A story no one tells. A sad joke. You never wanted us to succeed at anything. You selfish fucks are thirsty for glory. Splendor. Grandeur. Brilliance. Laurels. Whatever.


You preach family and brotherhood but wouldn’t know what to do with it if you fell face first into it.


With respect to penmanship and in regards to the postage. The 35 cents.


The sum of them find word and wreath.
Imaginary dial by imaginary dial.
One imaginary step after a father.
One tick by two ticks.


This is hollow… I remember saying.
To end one’s day with one wilt and one blossom.
This is hollow.
I respond to it in this fashion.


We mind.
Who blew the stop so boldly?
And who is going too slow?
That’s left to personal judgment.


Lavender delights.
This cenotaph weather.
What is so difficult?
Just like you could feel your roots get tied up in knots.
And there they rot.
Whereas I embraced it,
You swore it off.


As it stands, the apple has not fallen far. As it sits, a family will gather, the sum equal to its whole. As it lays, a Mother smiles and sighs at the same time. As it sleeps, a Brother will stir once, but only once in safety. As it stands, a Father recognizes where the apple has fallen.


One day maybe I’ll be able to break the richest bread and drink the finest wine. But I’m sorry I’m so vague. So vague. So vague. So vague. So vague.


Maybe I’ll be able to watch another train go by in the passenger seat. Maybe I’ll be able to spend the night there. Maybe I could play on that floor again. Just one more night where I could sit by the framed photographs of aviation. Another Thanksgiving where we could just stand still.


The saga continues.

Generations

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More goods coming soon.

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Subjects And Services

Wouldn’t you know it, but your beautiful face is all I have left. You would have never guessed it.
This is a feeble attempt at collecting my thoughts when they are purely scattered.
Purely, in a way that is innocent or pure. Thorough and definitive.
Just short drives. Short drives, nothing too far or risky.
We stay within safety. We stay within comfort.
Within radius and ambit. No. No comfort.
Do not prepare to be let down.
I am attempting something.
Obscurity by numbers.
Sheer amazement.
Nothing spared.
Cowards.
Stop.
Start.
Stop.
Courage.
No one cared.
Utter bemusement.
Infinite by slumber.
I am attempting something.
Do not prepare to be anything.
Comfortable in a new home. Comfort.
We embrace the vulnerability. Stay close.
Nautical miles. Dark red vials. Mountainous piles.
Traditional, established. In a white picket fence type of way.
This is a feeble attempt at scattering my thoughts when they are purely nostalgic.
Wouldn’t you know it, but there is substance surrounding me. You would have never guessed it.
I guess I should apologize for limiting my story telling. I just try so hard to write with a vengeance.
Vengeance. But why? I should have none. I deserve none. Just four digits and a short drive.
That’s all I’ve ever asked. This envelope torments me because I can’t open it. It won’t.
So I decided to write back and this time I make two copies. You can’t read them.
I can’t show you. It would ruin it for everyone else. The ones that can see.
Don’t try to resist. Don’t tempt your own curiosity. I have you.
In the mornings they scheme. Then they are tense.
They sear and are charred. Not burnt.
They are chomping at bits.
They line up to see it.
The parade.
Courage.
Stop.
Start.
Stop.
Cowards.
The discipline.
They line up to see it.
They are disgusting in laughter.
They freeze and are dried by the sun.
At night they fester. Then they are tranquil.
But we will not lose our discipline. Not yet devoured.
My friends once had friends. Now they have acquaintances.
And they smile and lie as if I can’t see through it all. Well dressed.
Well dressed but less inclined. Less inspired. Less like themselves. Less.
Reduced to marionettes just like the ones we hated. I dare you to question sacrifice.
I dare you to pretend like you were never side by side for the years that shaped who you are.


Furthermore.
I dare you to pretend like all of the photographs aren’t real. Tell me they are purely mirages.
I dare you to pretend like this would have been possible for either of us without the other.
I dare you to pretend like we wouldn’t love to see you two maintaining something that’s a part of me.
I dare you to pretend like I never asked you to take care of my brother. One simple request.
Tell me that a house of full of dynamite could be streamlined to static. Two houses. No noise.
You have wild imaginations if you thought you could ever just erase anything from recent memory.
But no. I digress. No vengeance. I don’t deserve it.
Start.
Stop.
Start.




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