Doom

A moth seeks the moon

Navigates the bulb

His obliviousness and my gloom.

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Lost Rhyme

I had a rendezvous-

Three lines, six rhymes

Something  sublime-

But now I rhyme,

Breaking this head of mine

Since I whiled time

While the poem flew a mile.

Smug Raincoats

Nobody appreciates a rain coat till they’re on a two wheeler in the rain. It’s herd mentality. The drizzles might as well be some large carnivore that has the two wheelers running. The cars just stand around like overconfident buffalo on the savanna, which some might argue is how they always are.

Not to get carried away with the analogies but you can’t help but watch documentary style. First the herd follows the safe path, pushing and shoving till they’re safe. In this case this was the little stretch of road under the metro. Every bit of cover counts since the crowd was already so drenched you could see their inner-wear. For once it was the scooters pushing the cars of to the side.

By the side of the roads everyone paused to stuff their phone someplace safe. Everyone stops ahead of the parked auto, and everyone after them parks a little ahead, till you’ve got a line along the road that’s stopping, stuffing phones and starting till you hit the signal. The signals always seem to be a nice place to watch people try to find cover and always make me wonder if the bus drivers speed up to cause mayhem to make their drives a little more interesting.

Problem is you aren’t much of a documentarian when you’ve got rain on your glasses. You aren’t much of a driver either but the roads are empty, you aren’t going to be hearing (or seeing any rude comments). No risk at all really. Gives you an insight into the savanna too. While the pedestrians glare at you, the other motorists wish they had the same shelter and scream fresh hell because you’re driving slowly to enjoy the rain while they drown- nobody enjoys the savanna more than the idiots behind the camera. You don’t have to live the rain at all just watch as everyone else struggles to survive 🙂

Taxidermists

We are a family of collectors. We have diverse interests and collect many things- perfume bottles, magazines from the soviet union, yellow pages for cities that don’t exist anymore. Even seeds. In the summer we often catch fireflies and lost flowers. The flies are pinned up in memories, the flowers in books- so many of them. All for a personal library that began decades ago. Yellow books that’ll never be used, no one can write over flowers and perfumed paper.

So much for memories I guess, but you won’t me writing on those pages either.

Life and a series of unwanted metaphor

Too much of everyday experience seems to arrange itself into metaphors. Metaphors I didn’t ask for or don’t know what to do with.

I can only hope the protagonist does well and list ones as they spring to mind-

I’ve got a wisdom tooth coming in, it doesn’t hurt- I have plenty of room for them actually. If only I had any appetite left or any wisdom to chew on.

I haven’t had insomnia in a while now. In fact I’m sleepy all the time. But after all my dosing and yawning I still haven’t got a single dream to show for it.