| Depths of Childhood
A splintered black whale floats among cracked floor boards, the piano issues a C sharp-clear beacon. Frantically I imitate a warbling newborn calf reassuring its stressed mother. I sing to fill the reflected void that stares back, surrounded by a jaundiced light. It looks like that yellowing photo of my aura. I think it reflects my soul, a well of dripping shadows. It wouldn't hurt to install a Maytag dryer, a splash of white to drive away the molding smell. I know how Gizmo felt fleeing from those slimy terrors in that Peptobismal pink corvette like the one Barbie drove that I forget is around the corner as it cradles my dirt-stained foot, sends me crashing across the floor into a forest of books but no one hears the screams lacerate the bared bellies of opened volumes that fill the days with perfumed lies and ink-smeared smells. |