Poetry? Prose? Beatnik bullshhh? Either way, I wrote this. The worst part is that once the storm clears, the twister has faded back into the clouds, and the sky has broken to reveal a familiar blue... we stand about the rubble that was our lives, picking apart pieces of our childhoods, searching for photographs of memories and friends we once knew... we may recover bits and pieces of what we once held, but our homes are destroyed and things will never be the same. And we recollect our time as children, thinking back on those bright summer days when melted ice cream ran down our unconcerned faces and we looked around the world around us with such ambition, totally unaware that in only a few years that flashed like seconds would we be so lost in such a desolate place that even our minds go blank.
And so we take the photo frames and shredded dolls, put them in a suitcase and search for a place to start anew. We will find ourselves in city apartments. We will find ourselves in modern homes. We will find ourselves in attempts to regain a state of sanctitude, all the while our memories sit on our night tables to constantly remind us of the happiness we once lost and tried to replace with a different life. |