the magenta files
I walk along with many things in my pockets of the new
three dollar overcoat I sewed a button to. Inside the
bright red fabric pockets right below my hips are papers of
my many thoughts and burdens of a wednesday. I walk along
with flat common shoes with a black ink uncommon quote on
the toes on which i do not stand. I pass the shouting
children who may surpass my age already though their eyes
have not seen and their ears have not heard and one cannot
say what their skin has felt.
Today is different from one just before and someone has
taken all the air from me. One more waking with an
earthquake in my skull and another night of prayers gives
me dreams of untrue possibilities.
Now I sit in purple time that may just be a sweater and
wonder of communities and that money is an invention of
man. I may go to the moon next week and joke of monsters on
the sea and wonder who invented rhyme.