top of page

Evil eyes punishments. Gluttonous for that. Statues with noses broken deem a value incomplete. Looking at a blue pigeon and keeping in tune with the halls ringing out to the people with sound, I conduct in the brain services for all the people I do not know. Closers minding the shells and company get a profit from the native-born. Sagging muscles don’t help a damn bit. And claustrophobia, keeping me in. Pounding my finger in an electrical plug to play a simple game called logistical truth, the tiny holes won’t fit. A current might awaken me. Tongue to the outlet it becomes fun. Social twirls today beginning in a place foreign to a basic goal, basic ease. Sleepless times abound around a staircase to dance around, nothing helping me out. Not even a nary would work. Early morning shuffles. Be sure to kiss Him goodbye. Waking to a shrill, a trill coming from a flute in the next room. Groggle.


        A scratch on the head; you have to put on you shoes. Clean a room that has hated you for years. You hate it back. Calls that were  but nicely put. Phones rang off the hook all day wanting someone else who had enough already but didn’t know when to stop until the time had come and passed over the pasture, grazing sights, shit sticking on y ur shoes and people clambered of more to do, this was the time in a long gone century that was to be the sounding-off bell.


        Black spots, why don’t you turn off the lights. Softly sift a candy bar for razors after a trick or treat.  I put my reading glasses on a table, it sounding so quiet a short nervous laugh, it sounded like a roar to me. I wondered what was happening. He got me a glass of water. I started to shake. I wondered where he came from.  I knew vaguely who he was, who I was, but it didn’t make sense. Issuing a statement once to digress a new means of communication seeming valuable to me as I reached for my paper cup lips.


        Painting a picture to remind myself where I had been for future reference, pioneers trampled me in. Collecting wild bird calls, dead fish screens. This time I didn’t fight. I knew the fate. And wanted it.


        Penance for the short laughter I’ve lived. Carbon stains my hands when I wad it to 


copyright © 2017 d.jaffe  - all rights reserved

bottom of page