Mauve steel extensions
become sky at twilight
as their tips scrape goose wings.
Feathers litter the ground around the girders,
forming small piles until whooshed away
by indigo breezes from an unknown deity
of incomplete wealth. All mortals quaver, mouths agape,
incredulous when faced with beams of such height
without visible supports.
Each post lives separately from the other,
though all rely on one another for morale
and some kind of root ball structure
that our simian species would do well to emulate.
First draft posted to WHARVED on 11/15/11
Where did our sense of longing go off to, anyway? I could have sworn there was more to this bridge than the water below and the people on top, but I can’t seem to find any examples of anything other than structural soundness.
Come on, I’m tired. Do you have any idea how much energy I expend just from trying to suppress panic attacks on a regular basis?
It’s somewhat unnerving to think that a troll could come up and overtake any and all of us for the sole purpose of being scary. We wouldn’t learn anything new, we wouldn’t even make any friends in the process. We would just be scared into abandoning our cups of coffee and kicking our way through the hospital doors in a fit of hysteria, unable to be calmed by anybody, save our biological parents–possibly aunts and uncles.
Do you even have aunts and uncles, my most highly-exalted overlords? Or did evolution do away with the necessity for tribalism?
Peace in a toboggan tobacco chewer is all I want to ask for these days, but I can’t quite come to negotiate in the right manner anymore. I don’t know if I’m getting rusty or if I’m just tired right now, but I’m definitely sick of not knowing how to proceed. After all that worrying, don’t you think we could afford a little sit-down in the park, feeding the ducks that waddle by?
I miss being able to do those things. Do you guys ever feed the ducks?
I really wish I could use my arms.