Magic mud

The piñata was a vast universe of hula hoops, with no notes taken, i was on the receiving end of a shower full of candy.  It was a bunch of unfamiliar brands feverishly answering the call, yellow, black, red;  each one a new translation of outburst. And like major leaguers we all stood apart but with ordinary colors and no uniform. The branch could have held everyones arm at the time but it had mine. I was drowning in enjoyment as each swing came so close to shortening my reach.

   The roots of the tree navigated a frenzy of heads like alligators in a mosh pit.  Was the blind fold the source of confusion or perhaps the anticipation of not having anything left? They put me in charge of ridicule and my actions were appropriate, tug the rope up, tug the rope down.  As enthusiastic as probable rope burn could be, i figured that it was better to have something to hold on to then be the responsible adult telling the children not to swing so hard. Candy fell from the sky while friends circumvented without shoes. The tree still yearns for that sweet sugar mud.

Chance

I am simply a tree that has been transplanted location to location in order to bear fruit. The indecisive nature of the sun’s rays is your shovel and my pants are wet because you have not noticed how root bound I am.  With each hole you place me in there is a chance for complete disaster. But I succeed because your knowledgeable of climates and fertilizer. 

It is my responsibility to grow hearty leaves and branches towards the sun.  Questioning my direction and drawing conclusions about the nature of my outreach is something your inexperienced in. Your job is to keep people off the branches.  There have been instances where you have failed me and they were broken.  You tried to solve this issue by putting up a fence but that only blocked out photosynthesis. With no concern for broken branches your lazy rope swing like mind succeeds in eating fruit but has no need to follow the path of the sun.

I took one of my branches, you know  the one you wanted trimmed from several summers ago.  I gave your precious,  recently stained fence a peace of mind, SLAM with all the forces of nature behind me.

Now out of reach, the clouds disappeared beyond the permission of the sun.  The earth had been up rooted as fence posts laughed at their intention. The new arrival of photosynthesis seemed to accelerate time towards its normal collective.  My branches were only a copy of some previous direction and they made excuses for what they saw as a location. Mounds of fertilizer and beyond that fields of trees with missing branches. I was the only one alive. 

playground absentee

A young man fainted having lost his sense of gullalable.  Would it be in the trophy room, should he open the door? Blinded by the presence of his own two hands he was a mascot completely incapable of being a fan. 

Meat hook and gold star, the rhythm of his sleep was unconscious for only a brief introduction.  Illuminated eyes followed as the canopy sway high above the basketball net like two jugs of pineapple juice.  Minds racing and hands clapping if it wasn’t for the light show he might have fallen into the basket. 

Hand over hand the noise of the crowd seemed to dissipate and when asked of his location the man simply said “I am alive and I believe I am fine”.  The deep purplish blue echoed the glossy effort towards speciation.  Rich yellows cautioned the arrival of talent while the real rowdy fans climbed on top of each other’s shoulders.  One boy shouted “I did it” leaving nothing behind like an arm wrestler’s determination towards a witness. 

His foot happened to be in my mouth and they departed just in time and free from danger. Through the after taste, I could hear dinner called out loud but these things I just had to ignore. 

The school yard boys were generally pleasant and gave him the nickname air jordan but it had nothing to do with the brand of sneakers that were in my mouth.   Hey mister what are you doing up there?

Sail less and without a score board, the young man’s canopy looked more like a pair of testicles then a beach front hammock.  And some missing tourist might have noticed that their weren’t enough street signs for the occasion.  So the boys and I hang here suspended in the shadow of canopy like mass murderers questioning the quality of fruit at a San Francisco farmers market.   

I don’t know how many people we thought we could fit on that canopy but with each person behind each figured there was room.  Luckily for us just beneath the net was a man hole cover and with a few number two pencils we circled ourselfs in order to remove that cover, there seemed to be no pattern. 

Statement

legitimacy

Chairs stacked people next to sidewalks as transparency created specimen from shades of cool.  No news outlets could be found to cover the oncoming dancers callus towards two men pouring cement. Parents singled out their children to prepare for spontaneous treasure by collecting photographs and asking questions. Such concern had left while clouds fell asleep with the anticipation of float size.  

to be continued

Top Secret Symbiotic Healing

The eagle that was once gray above the fire place is hell wrought and maniacal.  Never truly crossing the finish line, the bones of a smoking jacket disappear into the light of comedy.  Soft, red and chewy the arm chair was under surveillance.  With a hand crank, its gang belligerently outsourced the living room floor with Chinese Checkers. The rewind button was stuck forcing my brother to drink hot sauce.  Exuberant shame with no honesty. A plate of memories stuck to the ceiling of gods infirmary.  Dripping louder and louder , feelings had never been stretched as if somehow the sun could be mocked for not giving you rope burn. Rising faster than a knot, hatred was a comforting stream to piss in. 

Directions

The tracks are laid with fireworks as a robot danced to the glowing fortuitous anger of representation.  Inside the station travelers argue with a stuffed bear who has heard one too many farts in his day to change direction.   The beams were tangled with lost items and the neighboring furniture spoke of arrival, like a bag of marshmallows dropped around a camp fire. 

Having no time to pick up a brochure i made my way up to the front desk and all of it's contents were missing. The robot suggested that i have a cup of coffee and just try and relax.  He did not seem like the type i was going to encounter at a chess tournament so i took him up on his offer. Off in the distance a woman was laughing hysterically in a rocking chair with a pile of piano wire dangling a stuffed rabbit.  

what time is it and where am i were written on the wall like a gesture of spilled coffee.  The sound of the train hurdled forth erratically, without judgment and necessity.  It's labor of love pouring through the deep pockets of sunlight like junk mail that had never made it to the counter.  it was billowing and there were passengers buying pens from a beautiful girl who did not seem to suffer from blindness.