I was writing on this road last week. Memory of Black Beauty- This week silent and scribbles. Until now-lost, a private waking dream. Stuck into a found paper of news and a long deliberated verdict. The bumpy road makes Halloween writing speak and rattles all around.
Stale broccoli in the air. Arrogance. The clouds are breaking. I am a blizzard, ready.
Sometimes I think electrical posts look like the Eiffel Tower... and I double take..... I'm interrupted to ask why three beds, a headboard, a sofa and a few drawers are simply thrown in a front yard. What happens to it all? What happened to me nOt feeling the ink this morning?
A little boy heard. Later confessed as seven years. Bragging to his teenage companions. "I'm nOt scared of nothing... I'm not even scared of monsters!".. Bless.
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When I see a lot of furniture/home furnishings on the lawn, I think people were evicted :(
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