20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers

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[001] Intrata

Things inside the tent did not seem quite normal.
Here I am,
Snuggled in adipose,
Ceaselessly reeling towards some haughty bliss.
A wholesome chaos.
Brewing here.
A puke orange sun drips into the lake,
The mirror,
Sending a trillion jocose radiating cracks at
     the Chautauqua by the bay.

Where dreams are made, I have no name.
You can call me Al.
You can call me a Menshevik and stiff-backed and a transient.
I’m all of these.
I’m none of these.
All of the above.
I’m the 11:22 train late for Dallas.
I’m the 11:22 train late for Dallas.
I’m the 3:16 hydrofoil from St. Johns.
Think about it. Think about me.
Think. And suffer.
Think and suffer and bleed two quarts of ethanol and
     a blazing river of golden ecstasy.
Drink it. Drink it again, by the keg, by the bay.
Give it a fancy name and live forever.

Shave your head.
Make a movement.
Make the movement the crisp flick of a match set
      straight to your flesh.
But don’t call it ‘your’ flesh.

Is it plausible,
That we, Mensheviks,
Basking in the warm of the bay they call Chautauqua,
Have founded a cargo cult?
If this be nonsense,
Pray tell what isn’t.
Things inside the tent did not seem quite normal.
I walked outside.

Silence as a Defense (Open Book Challenge)

Just because one remains idle in the midst of chaos

Doesn’t mean that the chaos doesn’t resonate from within.

Sometimes the only defense mechanism one can handle,

To process what should not be

Is to sit perfectly still in silence

Waiting to be free.

Inspiration: In Dubious Battle by John Steinbeck





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