the tourist
Blue Crack Addict
- Joined
- Dec 25, 2003
- Messages
- 27,919
Warm summer evening and the sky is
c r y s t a l c l e a r , a
cold wind sprays over the air the laughter of the crickets cackles through.
And a paper s a i l b o a t
drifts down the road in the river of fallen rain
from cloudy afternoon.
A toy s a i l b o a t on a high sea, captained by imaginary navy officers
who went to battle for their king and country
over pieces of rock jutting out of the tumulets of the churning sea, alive under
those planks of wood rising and falling
waves like melded blue bodies with bloodshot stormy eyes. A toy s a i l b o a t
in Mare Tranquilitatis, mouths of dust
and sand where old bearded men cough up blood,
runny-nosed and whisp-haired,
flannel shirt unbuttoned three from the top and silver wire spectacles. Warm
summer evening and the cannons on the scene fire in the
imagination of the young boy
o n t h e s i d e w a l k
BOOM!
BOOM!
(BOOM!)
Another blast. Another volley.
Another return.
And the whirlpool catches them both. Miniature imagined crews
screaming in fright as the paper toy s a i l b o a t
rings the drane,
slipping and sliding, caught in the suck of tsunami. Sucked
down into the sewer, crumpled and lost forever in darkness.
And in indifference,
the imaginative child returns home for his afternoon nap.
To dream of t o m o r r o w.
c r y s t a l c l e a r , a
cold wind sprays over the air the laughter of the crickets cackles through.
And a paper s a i l b o a t
drifts down the road in the river of fallen rain
from cloudy afternoon.
A toy s a i l b o a t on a high sea, captained by imaginary navy officers
who went to battle for their king and country
over pieces of rock jutting out of the tumulets of the churning sea, alive under
those planks of wood rising and falling
waves like melded blue bodies with bloodshot stormy eyes. A toy s a i l b o a t
in Mare Tranquilitatis, mouths of dust
and sand where old bearded men cough up blood,
runny-nosed and whisp-haired,
flannel shirt unbuttoned three from the top and silver wire spectacles. Warm
summer evening and the cannons on the scene fire in the
imagination of the young boy
o n t h e s i d e w a l k
BOOM!
BOOM!
(BOOM!)
Another blast. Another volley.
Another return.
And the whirlpool catches them both. Miniature imagined crews
screaming in fright as the paper toy s a i l b o a t
rings the drane,
slipping and sliding, caught in the suck of tsunami. Sucked
down into the sewer, crumpled and lost forever in darkness.
And in indifference,
the imaginative child returns home for his afternoon nap.
To dream of t o m o r r o w.
