“…It can’t be found in solid colors, stagnant or even dried up streams; and there certainly are no deserts as vast as the human being; the empty place that can be felt but not seen…”
“…But as a warning indication I must tell you this is the substation for my frustration, the dirty needle of my hesitation, the loss of words of a failed relation…”
“…And lined up against the wall, this firing squad launches from my mind’s tongue. Oh, the ecstasy, this moment, at a loss, eternity…”
“…And the plants, they crave sunlight, the night creatures want moonlight, the hot desires cold, the cold wants what the hot can bestow, the rivers desire the land, and the fucking land wants the bodies of water, the mother regards the sons and daughters, the fathers desire all the strength they can trotter, the bird wants the worm, the worm wants the dirt, the dirt wants the rain, silence wants to scream, the man chases the dream, and death wants the living!…”
“…And there were inhibitions of my own slit neck, wanting to cash my own check, standing in line wishing I were next, but for far too long, my life, I treated as a horse bet…”
“…The stalwarts do consort in the genes of one pool; the high and low shares the same gruel and stool of the tools and are worn like bagues of the same avenues selected for the home-brewed embodied few upon the trenches filled with the me and you…”
“…The cracks in the floor, the spiders in my head, the monster in my closet—the waiting to be fed, the scratching and clawing, the snarling and gnawing will wear me out, so in writing I’m giving you my warning shout…”
“…My discontent, my self-indulgent dissonance, my utter incompetence, my complete ignorance—is not designed nor directed as violence, or to anyone, or to cause any offense…”
Adult audience intended.
Scribbles is available on Amazon.
Copyright © 2012 Volatalistic Phil
All rights reserved.