~Through the miracle of modern timing~

Yesterday, you were the quick brown fox that jumped over the lazy dog; you were alphabet soup, ((you were anything but blood and bones, you were the last love letter sent by sailing ship across the stormy seas.)) You were black and white characters on a blank screen. ((you were not lips and fingers and mouth and heartbeat.))

 

Today, you are a long, low train whistle that builds, intensifies. ((you are not the abstract characters you were yesterday.)) You are the hurricane lantern made by punching holes in a coffee can. ((you are not words.)) You are an unopened bottle of gin, chaste as it sits on the formica counter on a Sunday afternoon.

 

Tomorrow you will become the lightning that scars the sky.

 

Stepping back, I see that you were / you are / you will be / I was

 

just yesterday, the numbers of time ticking down my computer clock. ((I was not the clever anecdote I thought I was.)) Today, I am a cancan dancer, canary grass, a game of canasta. ((I am not the 18^th century portrait of a girl with a face the color of lonely)). I am the glass that holds the gin in the now opened bottle, the one that must be drunken so confidently it will not burn going down.

 

Tomorrow I am almost certain I will be the murmur of thunder, recoiling as it slips away on a sultry summer afternoon.

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

my goodness, you know how to make the words line up and behave!

[D.R. Wilsey Jr.]

Bravo. I'm really looking forward to reading more of your work after reading these. Intense images, excellent word choice and beautiful lines. I have no doubt I will be enjoying your work.

[Millionth Muse]

This is quite beautiful. It's rare that I can read a piece and get completely lost in the writing alone...it wasn't the imagery, or the word choice so much as it was the poetic voice that you employed here. This was delicate and oddly tragic in a very beautiful way. Nicely done.

[Antonio Valentino]

Tomorrow nothing, you're murmurring across the sky right now.

Lisa, this was better than a double shot of that gin on the formica table.
Your words numbed my brain in the most enjoyable and hazy way.

You are that force, even reckoning is afraid of.

Another glass of brilliance!
Antonio