Hello . . . this is Joe. Welcome to A Daily Drabble. Please add 100 words of prose or poetry as a comment on any date you want and in any order you want. Please reply on the drabbles you like. I'll moderate the comments at night, and they'll appear the next day. This is for everyone!
I think high fashion runway—meets nuclear reactor, even as I have no idea what the interior of that kind of deal looks like. “This is the hour of lead—remembered, if outlived.” That’s me, probably, misquoting Emily Dickinson. I think I and thought disdains my first person but has ventricle for grammar. Grammar goes at my with a hammer, one the smithy made especial for the English of a Queen as he cruises the ramparts. Repeat after me—after great pain, a normal feeling comes to scalp your naked soul. The second person seconds, but prefers thirds: yah, baby.
ReplyDeleteWhat to do when endlessly strolling fantastic shafts, clickety-clacking down shiny halls, and aiming for the distant phosphor hue that can never be attained? Ambulation is tedious, but an innate urge to continue prevents stopping. Forward momentum seems monosynaptic reflex, and one can only break the magnetic pull enough to vary that momentum—often dashing a few yards and jumping into a good slide on one’s shins, and sometimes lying down and pushing with one’s feet to scoot head-first on one’s back. Half-skip in a sideways gait, and sometimes tightrope walk; dream during advanced sleep-gait, always surefooted and never stumbling.
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