At Least I'm Using My Time Wisely, pt2
A continuation of the mushroom story recently published in The Tower:
Later, morning, took the newspaper in, soaked in dew, unwrapped, finished vodka behind headboard, sleep.
Can feel myself dreaming as its sleeping and feeling the opposite of the park trip. Big checkered boxes and bar graphs and IF OR AND NOT's broken by patches of the old mushroom induced wing trip.
And as I recollect against these furrowed sheets the rough of brick against naked back shadow of not-grown-wing memory. I curl and push the covers back like a dog dreaming of open fields.
The boxes again, a calendar of the rip, two days ago the brownies, Trip Month One, day one. Cooking, drinking, waiting on the porch which belonged to the guy we bought from. That's three months before even doing anything but drink. We weren't sure if the oven should be at 400 or 450.
Jack, before we left the park, throwing those golden flowers at joggers. He ran track, 800 meter, 1200 meter.
This is amazing.
Every second I turn and feel the spot on my back just under where my shoulder blades push hardest against skin.
My mother worries downstairs. I left the door unlocked, my shoes on, an empty carton in the fridge, go a 2100 on the SAT's, I'll fit in too well at State in the city, grey hair at her age?
Later, morning, took the newspaper in, soaked in dew, unwrapped, finished vodka behind headboard, sleep.
Can feel myself dreaming as its sleeping and feeling the opposite of the park trip. Big checkered boxes and bar graphs and IF OR AND NOT's broken by patches of the old mushroom induced wing trip.
And as I recollect against these furrowed sheets the rough of brick against naked back shadow of not-grown-wing memory. I curl and push the covers back like a dog dreaming of open fields.
The boxes again, a calendar of the rip, two days ago the brownies, Trip Month One, day one. Cooking, drinking, waiting on the porch which belonged to the guy we bought from. That's three months before even doing anything but drink. We weren't sure if the oven should be at 400 or 450.
Jack, before we left the park, throwing those golden flowers at joggers. He ran track, 800 meter, 1200 meter.
This is amazing.
Every second I turn and feel the spot on my back just under where my shoulder blades push hardest against skin.
My mother worries downstairs. I left the door unlocked, my shoes on, an empty carton in the fridge, go a 2100 on the SAT's, I'll fit in too well at State in the city, grey hair at her age?
posted by Fifth at 3:03 PM
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