The following was inspired by this sign, as well as comments made by a fundamentalist Christian on the radio (hey, I was trying to find the local pubic radio jazz station Monday and ended up listening to this dude's ravings) that Jesus doesn't save the souls of those who kill themselves. I find that kinda harsh.And yes, I've been a visitor to that kind of darkness.
But offing yourself solves nothing (and makes a terrible mess).
Anyway, this is what formed in my head this a.m. while walking the dogs. First whirl through, it came in at 55 words when I stopped to write it down. Three extra words. Glorious.
Stopped-motion
There is forward motion. There is standing still.
I was never one to lie too still. Climber, they said. Going places.
Yeah, I went places. Dark corners where light doesn’t penetrate.
It got old.
I got old.
Now I sit, motionless, alone. In a vast field of flowers. Dead, scorched brown.
The ragged hole in my temple smolders.
1 comments:
Yup, there it is... Nice piece. So far "Fargo" seems to be infecting your writing. Just exactly what is it about those Dakota's that makes people write of such bloody darkness and solitude? ;-)
-- Snarky
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