Where Art Thou?

Which city could this be? Ugly as hell maybe it is...

Walking is difficult here, any attempt to move around this place is war of a self defeating purpose; I just want to see her once more. Maybe if I can catch a glimpse the sorrow will dismiss me from this palace; the court must be a square of fools, I watch them on occasion walk into the building left of the market, they do not acknowledge this predicament, never looks at a single one of us.

"What are your thoughts?"

"A girl..."

"Really.....?"

"Yes..."

"What is her name?"

"Catrixenya..."

"She comes here sometimes to purchase pens."

"Does she write?"

"Why else would she need the ink?"

"I wonder what she writes..."

Mmmmmm.....a delicious flavor tastes of my lips while I stare at the deep blue sea; the coastline is not nearly as attractive yet I am lost inside the waves. I wonder who is on the boat with the black mast, they do not appear to fish, must be one of those things as the bread roller for a restaurant near the blacksmith says whenever I mention an event my attention cannot entirely grasp. These tender hands on my hips feel divine; as I look down to admire the art of physicality the angels are gone.

"Sophistication of man is the culture he projects while civilization bows down to the image of lost pyramids."

I raise my hand as to embarrass him with the intrigue of woman.

"Lady in the center of attention; what is it you wish to ask?"

An act of blushing gentility forms red balloons on his vanilla creme face; children come out to play when class is in session.

"I am in dire need to know..."

Pause of dramaticism is unintentional; a handsome Beau walks through the door. I gather my weakening composition as not to faint; he bites his bottom lip ever so slightly quivering my existence with ghostly remnants hanging over our coats. Romance is not the subject; I must now remember what I intended to ask. The thought is meaningless compared to this man.

"Please continue Madam..."

"Yes...will we ever be civilized?"

"I don't know..."

The seat next to me is empty; I dream of her filling the space inside of me. Distance captures the length of my emotion as I leave. Faith knows me not; I am now understanding the plight of this sorrow. I am pleasant of senses to see the other side of my brain; his platinum to butter blend hair is covering half his face, I am the focal sight of a sky inside the mind's eye.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see my sushi; what about you?"

Shyness is my best friend; I look to the ground we stand. His glove on my shoulder brings me back; fingers cold as ice reminds me of what lays underneath.

"I am just here."

"That makes the two of us."

"I feel like I should be elsewhere."

"I know..."

"Shall we proceed..."

"We are without choice."

While I am in this residence I admit the dread of people who play role of name for society's image to return; they try with earnestness of deception to routine a cycling nightmare. I do cry for those I wish to be with; I wonder if anyone understands. Can I explain this? Perhaps they would tell me it is all in my head; if so then I suppose my head is everywhere or possibly hidden from peripheral vision. I am a delusional ego crack as so many are wearing the same shell. I am a guy in a white t shirt with khaki boarder shorts wallet in a pocket with some lip balm wearing two chains off my belt; one for a getaway vehicle and the other a key for a house I return just to be a bombardment for strangers the meta of my cognition does not recognize. I constantly feel the outside of my pants to assure myself everything is inside. What part of reality determines who should be together and who shall not? This is why I am in the state of unreal significance. Somebody touch me with the lashes of a third eye and I will give you sight as you maybe blind mine are covered with this lie.

"I would advise you let him go."

"If we do not?"

"You will join the black mast in the sea."

Sweet Pea is what she calls me; she does not know I know about her. I am the child of a strong man and olive oil; there is no mystery in cartoon depictions of obvious connotation. The masquerade of the same face is bizarre; I wonder if she is aware as she thinks about me. I wonder if she contemplates me with sincerity. She leaves me hints without realizing; seems as though we are a common habit at moments we parallel as dismembered family. I am one of those; we must be different. I am disposable for placement in an unorganized world, how ridiculous, how finite, how torturous for us existing as the sensitivity of a thin membrane encasing a heart larger than those which bid us this theatre burning to the ground ever so slowly.

They let him go; what did they want from him? These men were in full appearance; they did not attempt to hide. Somebody sent them and I wonder why.

Pharaoh's class is over; he looks for me to discuss my behavior. While he giggles with me inside the jewels which he plays with gently around his neck I am the lipstick on a collar.

"Could it be any redder..."

"It was about to be but I saw you coming. We are not public for affection..."

"You should be..."

"Why is that?"

"The both of you together is a compliment for our environment."

"Is it a civilized occurrence?"

"The most I ever witnessed."