Life was hopeless. I was 20. I remember that strongly. I remember laying there under the heavy down covers of the bed I’d slept in throughout my childhood. It was summer and hot and the house never had A/C. I didn’t care. I could melt into a puddle and never be seen again. I was a total failure who had to move back home to his parents. Out into the big world and the big floppy boomerang back. It was a “head hung low, a return to open arms” and an invitation to four months of utter despicable laziness. I came back limping after my attempt at surviving alone in California and Florida. What could have been beaches and non-stop scantily clad girls and spring break responsibility turned out to be far more sobering.

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“Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence” – Paul Simon

1989 – Fall

David crept up the winding stairs. He had woken to have a Camel cigarette. He was looking out at the old pond on his New Hampshire property. He heard his five year old daughter Robin talking to someone- her window was cracked. Nicholas’s room was first at the top of the stair and he was dead asleep- as usual. When he saw the door to Robin’s room- it was closed. This was not unusual for her. The light pierced from below. She was lightly laughing inside. When he opened the door, she was fine and beaming up at him. It was another night not going to bed and playing with more of those plastic ponies he kept on buying. Then, there in the corner was the heirloom- the old rocking chair. And it was empty and moving. Robin was talking now to both of them.
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"I learned how to swim and I learned who I was,
A lot about livin and a little 'bout love."
- Alan Jackson "Chatahoochie"

"when you stop learning- moving- you die."
- Shur Gung

State Correctional Facility Sep 31, 2020
Minimum Security Wing
Concord, New Hampshire
Inmate 18776
N. Dorsey

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Margot Fontaigne looked down her Prada prescription glasses at her iPad. She adjusted her designer skirt by resting the pad on her knees and pulling at her thighs side to side- like a boa constricter making room. She was slightly overweight to her dreadful husband but to herself she knew she was a cow, and would always be a cow. She looked up at the parade of young girls striding down the runway- fresh meat to the game.

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Buxby was sick to his stomach after another days work. It didn't show on his pale grey face. He wiped it hard with his hand, removing the makeup. He felt his muscles sag under the depression. He had turned away when the director yelled it- 'arrright guys and gals, that's a rap up for the shot! That's all folks!' His mouth was too dry. Too many lines. Too much sarcasm in Tinseltown. He got himself extricated from the underlings combing about, with their clipboards and earphones. He had heard the director the first time he announced the schedule. The night was his- if he wanted it. He could have his chauffer drop him at the Playboy mansion, give the bunnies a show. One long night of debauchery.

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RADIO FLYER

snakes snails puppy-tails
cannot be harnessed for long
freedom to run wild

TUMBRILS

ease the toil to the
guillotine and make ends-meat,
in better times bare fruit

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