Utopia I want to go a home, but it ain’t any, with the right tight walls and the proper sea to see from the small cranky cracks of the loosely closed curtains when the yearning outdoors smoke will get in and through the attic, Have had enough of out there’s, the glories of the other ones, perfections repeated so shamelessly, In front of which I had to stay a face of a “never-heard” a one and one half nerd just so I play the game. The bait of myriad beautiful women was one woman of some sort of generating algorithm. But then again I am myself one of “them” to them, of course; stiff like a cliff I couldn’t miss the fat likelihood of this… I’ve my plethora of own me’s not seen yet, I said to myself and was so ripe to populate a whole island (utopia they call it mockingly, but I don’t care, and I don’t have to fall once again for this) an island with all the selves - cast sporadic spores of my precious mushroom dome, to found a new city, neighbors living all the lives of mine I do deserve and here-I-can’t, my basic ghost seeing them one by one and all the time… The animosity amongst them did come fore so natural, that pleasant disdain for myself I have pushed thus far away full uneasiness and dismay, and even evenings of amity, of backgammon and puffing smoke of altruism with my close clones, that shamelessly incestuous air trembling birches and narcissi in the ponds of many a beloved good green frogs, my royalties never ever full paid for in my regular outdoors, even the evenings of the warm vapors of self-pity and caress, came implied as a “what else”… Was so longing for my akin ones, that I shelter for so long; pondering quietly in the bench of my southern distant garden; my yard birches, all the three, with approving trembling leaves seemed so willing to agree.
Posted on: Mon, 10 Jun 2013 19:36:04 +0000
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