XI.

A giant boulder stands in the middle of my path. I've lost sight of the cobblestones under my feet. I tuck my hair up and become someone else. Characteristics particularly chosen for the one I lack. Becoming someone better. Maybe a man, this time.

 

        Constants change and what seemed like an inevitable and normal way to go, has disappeared. Things turn and look to others' ideas. Plummeting a course to play on, separate form divine merit. Crowding no more. Solid phases come and leave before there is time for study. Pleasantries focusing, darkening, narrowing. A thousand lakes stand in the way, between relation and reality.

 

        Corporate ideas come up for air and survive. Makers of glass products tear in the pressure of their own product. Kind words directed to factories or workers slogans tie in with what is expected. Hair dryers cage you for a job. Solid ideas disappear. My mind deranged. Or could it be the same? Drawings of myself show features I do not recognize. So they are there.

        Graphic details show texture and elite shadows sown to the base. Talking lead. Traffic

RIVER BED   41

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