Walk On By

Zoomy's frozen fingers lock around my wrists, Mighty's wool mittens gather the under sides of my ankles, I am looking directly into You Know Who; my distress is a wolf wherever he roams. My eyes are dry sadness while I sleepily focus on three roommates, one of which is determined motivation, the other two concerned beyond momentual happenings for an unknown precedent of what keeps me on this lounge sofa. Floating alongside appendages I dream through a tiled complexity, blue adjacent to orange with brown diagnol streaks cross over a vanilla yellow sun shade of flat paint; cornering pavement to asphalt street a fire hydrant talks to me.

"What's wrong with you?"

Mouse directs our trio into my standing position as he replies to the water pillar.

"Look here....."

"Mighty if they do not understand then we cannot stop for their misunderstanding."

You Know is checking his knots to ensure a bungee proof grip.

"I'm not surprised nobody let you out of the bind."

Zoom is inside my hood over a shoulder shedding a few tears; I put an arm around his collar to catch stray drops before spraying the sidewalk.

"People just stare..."

"They do not say anything at all."

"There's nothing to say; they know you belong there. You don't belong anywhere else in the hood; nobody going to put up with your shit!"

"Why is she crying?"

"God damn...Mighty, Monks, I advise to turn your head as I assess the details further in depth of sewer drain precision techniques."

"We sincerely believe you will never know how we feel; we will live the nightmare of your controlling behavior. We will despise you tremendously."

Darkness cloaks Mouse in mystery; he is planning an exit we must accept. Circumstance unravels our subconscious as ancient messages found in a pyramid scroll yet we remain loyal to naivete. Neither of Buddha's monkeys can spare a sense for this notion of losing a friend. You Know is silent; he is aware of mythological creatures, legends, and secrets.

"We will only do it for a short while."

"Fucking punks! I'm going to make sure you puke all them shucks out the fuck your momma should of thought about before diving into a slime sack!"

"I usually do not condone violence but this particular instance I believe you deserve it."

Zoom thumb to index sweeps my chin for a glimpse of strings slithering down a rusty iron grill; straight gapped teeth chomp polyester and dyed chemise for unseen dentists to examine inside the dwelling of undocumented reptilian species.

"Not worth it at all."

"We need to take care of our needs which they are no part of...."

"What if we were?"

"We do not want anything from you."

"You want your rings..."

"I prefer to have the gentleman the ring belongs..."

"As do I..."

"We would also like to see them with those gentlemen."

"Yeah a mighty wedding...."

"You're going to marry them?"

"You sure about that?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Hell Yeah!"

"No shit! We got things to do. If you're lucky they will pick you out for live ones. If you're unlucky we will be seeing your faces swirling around the toilet."

Group of freestyle poets for beats tuned by grey boxes huddles around; their stare is observation. Grappling patternless appendages into a two sided hook, the bait is helplessly and heartily swallowed by New York City's digestive grime; our hungry journey ends with a pat on the back belching a burp for bus boys inside a trendy pop culture Madtown restaurant.

"Is this what we will be doing forever?"

"Feels like that..."

"This is not what we want but this is what we need right now."

"Yikes is practical; this kind of business is not."

"What is the key to the game?"

"Yes what will undo the lock?"

"Longevity..."

"Devotion..."

Somehow we barely bear the witness of our dismay with food on our plates and a roof over our heads. Repetition is a course we must of failed; we keep picking up the book to slam it down on the ground.

"This is a never ending cycle."

"I don't want to be part of the circle."

"We keep missing the target."

"I'm starting to think we're doing something wrong."

Separation is personal contemplation, four chunks of concrete is a plain for props without gigs; out of work again we stop to think. I walk by Uncle Moe's bodega weeping sentimentality for an aching heart; somewhere inside this shop my mind awaits a mentor, I wonder if he gets the vibe.

"You won't have to work again."

"Chester I do not consider what I do to be work. It is a lesson of integrity and necessity."

"You love him that much?"

"The way I feel for Romeo is a woman coming back from the dead."

"I don't understand..."

"I don't feel that way about you. I will never feel this way about anybody except for him."

"You will forget about him."

"No matter what you do to me I will always desire to be with him."

"What if I control your mind?"

"If my brain cannot contact regions of memory the emotion will be my guide."

Inside the universe I exist while Chester is speaking that which astronauts sporting flags attempt, I contemplate the astronomical misery my thoughts can be for a special effects stepper to intervene.