A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- today is a bad memory i get paid today... i got paid that day too when i got in the truck and the small envelope was passed to me from my brother's hand, the rather messy hand it was written in a giveaway of who sent it even if htere was no return on it. written on heavy bond paper, the slightly textured kind good for either pencil drawings or calligraphy in a well-practiced hand. weeks later, while still reeling from the bullet that had just struck me between the eyes, in the ovenlike confines of the little box of a living space i call home, i cut myself deep and hard and washed the two sheets of paper in a shade of red that did not obscure the words and dried from the heat almost as soon as it soaked through i did not light any candles that day as like me, they were wilted in the desolate heat, i threw the slumped wax cylinders in the trash and never really replaced them, though the surviving candlesticks did make grand adornments for the liquor bottle graveyard that i shared shelf-space with for the next two years. I'm a VCR funeral of dead memory waste (m. manson) 12:46 p.m. - 2003-05-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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