Ride Lugged

Before you, ill-conceived bangs pasted to my face ending in a mop of white recently unwashed hair, covered by a hat. On the hat, salt stains spread from the button like an ice-age glacier model. The same color too. A lump like a caterpillar sewn into my gum, Chewing Tobacco (hmmm skoal mint long cut) is co-authoring the day, the next trick, my mood, my hopes and the erosion of what otherwise is a healthy mouth, along with the Coke. The Coke, always by my side should come with a holster. Like perfect sets of waves, rows of what looks like rows of dirt, which are in fact rows of dirt (applied by my face, greasy with tenacious auto exhaust), are breaking down from the sweaty collar of a faded and now collectible t-shirt. Breaking down, along my shoulder, from the collar to the cuff, beaching on my chubby sunburned arm at the end of which is my hand. The hand shades my eyes; Vietnam veteran-like eyes freaky with intention and determination. Centered in a collage of what amounts to baby fat, freckles, an earring, a no lipped but committed smile and snot are two tiny reflections of a curb. I’m staring at my opportunity and your curb, bench, staircase and handrail. The blood from my knee and shin intersect, marching downward, leaving watered down proof in abstract shapes on my socks. I hike the socks. My shoes, a “wet dream” for budding forensic scientists; ripped, retied, re-ripped shoelaces, countless marks, abrasions and modifications. I’m assigning numeric value, storyboards and scenarios to your different architecture. Designing, no manifesting a map of my world; a world of concrete, steel and glass with illegal gymnastic points of interest. I am drawing fluid hopeful lines from one object to another. Inhale, spit and move. Left behind is a pool of sweat and an invisible beginning. This is my first and sixtieth attempt. I’ve been here forever. I’m rolling. Comforted and invigorated by the fact that life is rushing at me sideways.

that was written by danielwakefieldpaisley, not me, about 5 years ago.