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KEEPIN TRACK OF THE TIME AND THE SCENERY SHIFTING GEARS IN MY MIND LIKE MACHINERY
The sky is a vast violet across the downtown. A slow and steady tapping from the drip of the bathroom faucet has put me in a state of sentimental meditation. My feet are bare beside remnants of mud and clovers on the carpet where I made a map of everything I could remember. Everything before the suspension/confusion. as blank as my mind sits these days I am fascinated with the details of this new place… the pigeon I brought home sits in a bag by the door…. Deciding what to do with it I suppose. just couldn’t leave it on the parking lot with it’s rosy feet curled and salty wings caving in as people passed by the windows of the donut shop…
In the apartment across from me a small girl is dressed in a leotard and holding a music box. there is a vase by the door with wilting roses of pink and orange. she watches the ballerina spin around inside. I watch her spin in mirror image. Her legs are not very long but she stretches them, forcefully pointing her toes. I feel myself breathe in her direction. Her face angelic. I point my toes and pause.
In my pockets are the notes from the junkyard today… looking for any pieces I might have missed before. A blue skylark was parked by the entrance with a Washington state licence plate. Somehow I knew I had been inside that car, but I couldn’t remember when or why. Looking inside the window I saw a silver lipstick case on the dash with an old Christmas card of a couple in red. Under their faces in flourishing green typed “Season’s Greetings!” Stuck to the windshield were the notes, pressed under the wipers. They were folded and familiar. I opened them to read:
THIS PL∆CE REMINDS ME OF ME
HOW WOULD YOU KNOW WH∆T THAT FEELS LIKE MY ∆RMS HURT.
∆ND I ∆M STILL NOT USED TO THE SIRENS
HOW COULD YOU KNOW
On the way back there was a barren tree with a red hat hanging from a branch like a strange bird. There is an old story about a red fruit on a tree in a beautiful garden, and a woman who was not yet aware of herself who took the fruit and the world collapsed. I wondered if someone knew this same story that I knew. Kids swerved passed me on bicycles singing songs in unison, one of them was wearing the same red hat. I figured it must belong to one of his brothers. Whatever the case, I could not reach it. It was just high enough.