not a deep, cleansing breath
but a deep draught of chocolate
rushing through to my fingertips as i tap away on the keyboard of my mind
wondering out loud what it is and why it is
where it goes and
a deep draught of chocolate
from the kitsch childhood fantasy fountain
sitting in the display
the shopkeeper doesn't look at me,
and i think, i must be a frightful mess,
when suddenly a cold shiver passes through me
a ghost! i spin around,
just in time to catch a live one's hand passing through me
the contact that reminds me
which side of the glass i'm on
the chocolate euphoria gives way
to the usual eternal distress
-
the sun shines brightly cutting through the haze into tight corners of the post-atomic daze the concrete alley floor, with its broken flow...
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for fourteen years i wished my father dead at the age of eighteen i buried him it would take another six years to be rid of his physica...
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