Atlantis Rediscovered on a Staircase
Most military men don’t carry a transponder skip in their step, or stay up late at night training elves for battle scenarios, waking early birds & offering worms for thought to the unguided rebellions and hormonally deficient. It was a rainy spectacle, bordered by English church ruins, the best compact green otto a middleclass paycheck could buy. The maintenance of a good life was on a scheduled cycle, non-negotiable supply distribution. --------à Compass points north.
Up the staircase we went on an after-dinner journey, a good home giving vibes of freshly cooked thanksgiving meals, his wife’s gingerly laughs, having a dog without having a dog. Marriage pictures depicted the young boyish before the current projection: Mischievous creature. Oh, he pissed off his coworkers with humor that came of as dryly offensive, though he provided comic relief in general, which was usually to his own amusement. (It’s the effort that counts) One of a kind immaterial fox metalocalypse watcher, night vision captured as soon as an ambitious floor supervisor can “inspect himself with his own lens…”
Showed he his bookshelf, some self remedy collectables; an Edgar Cayce paperback, dusty, with faded cover. Something about secret knowledge of lost civilization. I took for something straight out of a comparative history journal or a mythical enthusiast selling fake medicine. Looked like an interesting read; remembered being offered to borrow it but I politely declined. My mind was full enough of Atlantian road maps in a disappearance act. What I could hope for was to be able to come across another stout, hopeful and honest fellow such as this, on life’s clusterphobic trails. An imp of simple mockeries, yet genuine human heart. I crossed into the airless void of forgotten islands beyond where I could feel my own cautious footsteps. I knew I had gained a guiding spirit, a watchdog with perked up ears, someone who aided my self discovery.
In : Poetry