townparole

This WordPress.com site is the cat’s pajamas

remember the time you took me to the waterfront and we laid down under the gazebo? it was one of those times when we knew it was over but we wanted to make it nice. we were still trying to make memories of happy times even though we knew it was going to end. i remember, i dont think you do. it was late and it was sunday, you were leaving the next day and we always had this urge to make the last night special. I also remember i said something that made you mad and i knew it would make you mad and i said it anyways thats just what I did. then you said something nice and sweet about the future, you knew it wasn’t true as the words were coming out of your mouth, and i knew you didn’t mean it, but i believed it anyways, just because it was so nice and sweet and i wanted to believe it. i wanted to think it was true; that we would go back to that gazebo, that we would lay there again. you and me, me and you under the same stars, being as happy as we were that night. its easy to lie, its hard to believe. good thing we are good at both. words are fragments of moments and moments are fragments of memories. take any out of context and theres chaos. chaos is what we have now. The entropy of the universe tends to a maximum.

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I can’t have the night come, but shit it likes to find me.

It knows who I am, it knows what I like, breaking them blood vessels, curling my fingers back.  I keep opening the shade hoping the light gonna expose me, but it doesn’t and in this brooding way the gray always turns to black.

Last night I went a-walking. Walking through them trees with their hands just slapping me in the face.  Whispering in my ear, they told me keep walking pretty lady, you’re walking the right way. There was a ghost coming out, been thickening my skin.

And suddenly the road opened and I was in a clearing, just a dead end – the tepid orange glow of the streetlamp.  He was standing there just waiting for me, with hair mat down and flash-light eyes.

Couldn’t run, couldn’t do shit.

Nobody told me there were coyotes in the tropics. 

 

 

He wore old spice. I never liked it, I knew he did. To me it smelled like something trying to cover something else up. Kind of like he was. His actions were mostly born out of guilt, like he did something bad and had to cover it up with something nice. But like the old spice the nice actions, the flowers, the presents, the gestures, did not completely covered the other scent, the odor, the odor of guilt. I loved it when he brought me flowers, but soon enough I learned what flower really meant. I learned what kisses really meant. And then I hated his kisses and I hated his flowers, I hated his presents. 

But then, there were no more kisses, no more flowers, no more. We were no more. He was no more in relation to me, and I was no more in relation to him. There was still the odor, his and mine and ours, all the flowers were gone but the old spice remain.

one for you,

and this one is for me,

when I walk out I think about you,

when I walk in, about me

you stood there

looking at me

I looked away

Everything in me was telling me to

I dont know why

I never know why

then she walked in

you looking at her looking at me looking at you

And then, only then I remembered why

why i do the things I do

and why you do the things you do

 

 

There are three girls I know and like. There are five boys I know and like. There’s one cat I know and like. There’s no dogs I like. That’s four things about me, I realized you only asked for one, but yeah, my name is Tommy Cook. 

That was Tommy’s introduction in his first day of third grade.

mom said she wo…

mom said she would take us to the public pool if we were good this week. she said she would even get us those cookies we like, you know, the animal crackers covered in pink and white frosting we would eat in the playground. she wont buy us coke though, only juice, but thats ok i guess if we have the cookies. maybe if we are really good we can drive to the beach… its so far away, like hours and hours. You’ve never been but i have, i went once, for dad’s birthday, i didn’t like the sand, it was everywhere. 

He wakes up yel…

He wakes up yelling.  

Shadows like animal balloons float across the ceiling.  Darkness passes over his open eyes. He cannot look towards the threshold.  He feels them. Empty eyes and hands touching the wood frame pulling their shoulders forward to his bed. 

Headlights pass through the room, touching every surface, almost in a sweet way.  The lamp, the table, the dog. 

The feeling passes.