All the dang concessions
I’ve had to make
over the years–
they’ve now begun double- and triple-
parking themselves in my corporeal curio cabinet.
I swear I even saw a few quad-park jobs.
Kim constantly tries to reassure me
I’m just a bit on edge, only hallucinating
(from the stress). But am I?
I haven’t felt this lucid in quite a while. In fact,
the last time I even approached this threshold,
Kim said I was “being a bit much”.
Then I tripped over those words
and fell flat on my face–
for five years. I was
absolutely terrified to think
that I may never again catch that
curio cabinet of concessions in my
viewfinder for convenient irony extraction.
The first three years
were a slog, with Kim squeezing my hand
the whole time, way too tight.
My saving grace? Teaching myself
perfect switch-handedness.
Came in handy! Totally worth the $9k.
Tag: Hallucinating
To and Fro
Suppose you start stammering
at these shimmering jewels
on your nightstand, as though
you’ve established some
sort of language connection
in the realm of Greater Jewelese.
You do innately understand
that jewels possess no mental capacities,
but that seems only to fuel your curiosity
as you divulge your deepest secrets
to their faceted surfaces
(eg. the state
of your psyche, regardless of stymying
ethics preventing your profits, etc.).
It beats talking to a therapist,
you tell yourself
as you realize
that a counselor would only cost
a fraction of what your precious stones
just ran you at the jeweler’s stand
(and then it dawns on you
that you never left home this morning,
and you’ve been hallucinating
those jewels all this time).
You take the opportunity to sit up in bed,
wishing
that you could at least have some kind of
shiny bauble
to stare at
(cursing
the day that you broke your bedroom window
while throwing your weight
to and fro,
resulting in a cardboard and
duct-taped mess).
———-
First draft posted to WHARVED in 2014
WHARVED 