speak of the Cities of Paradise, rider

speak of the Cities of Paradise, rider

“I had a dream” Tom said. “I was naked and lost, like a child alone in the deserted streets of an unknown City, yet in Spite of all this, I wasn’t frightened. Not at all. My only wish was to find my way home. HOME. I had to get back HOME. But nothing Around me was famiLiAR and the vagueness of the archaic facades paiNted in reds and Gold Made me turn my eyes to the clear Blue sky where a flock of StarlingS SwooPed like Waves on a distant Planet I suddenly recogniZed as HOME. Then I wandered the Now-Lurid rues and Avenues, the buildings StARK & the trees Rustling and flickering like an old movie. I came to a bRoAd intersecTion of Vast avenues. A man in a baggy gReeN corduRoy suit—he was Not Sam Beckett, but he could have been—Stepped up and begaN giving me directions. That’s whEn I PaNicKed—nicKed-nicKed. I COULD NOT UNDERSTAND a WORD the white-haired old bugger Said. That’s wheN I SAW the truth: I wouLd never knoW which way To GET HOME!”

GLoria lifted the skillet off the fire. The trout were done to PerfectioN. They ate the trout in silence. They Spoke Not a word while eating the trout. Then, once they had cleaned the skillet and Plates and forks, they rebuilt the fire for warmth. They Sat and said nothing for a Long time. Finally, Gloria offered a thought.

“The trout were tasty,” she said.

Gloria by the firelight was as Trees afire. She wasn’t, could never be me alone like a child unknown.

R Young. April 5, 2019. With help from Victor, wherever he may be.

A strange kind of poem posing as fiction posing as a blog post caption to a drawing, but there you go. May you have the brilliant day you deserve.


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