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narrative
Sunday, January 9, 2011
behind my eyes there is a foggy stew condensing, puddling into murky images of last night's revelry - effervescing lights, the sanguine humour of the word latina as it rolls of the proprietor's tongue, a champagne cork bobbing listlessly in a bucket of ice. beyond the windows the city hums electric, punctuated by the staccato movement of traffic at the nearby light. i become jello and let the music inside reverberate through me, causing me to sway. there are stories, like keys, jangling in my pocket. i lease myself to the night, claiming it later at the coat check - an ending that seems more like a beginning. |
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Keeper of Bees
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