Into the cat’s eye marble of his eyes, I swirl like an ink blot, feathery edges softly expanding. The trouble is the mind continues to wander even as we merge. I know that sex is supposed to be romantic and the poets riff on love everlasting but I get tripped up about anything which claims too much power for too high a price. It’s a shame I guess, the dissolution of fantasy. Reality’s a drag, fuck knows. I finish my coffee and lace up my boots.
Stepping out the front door into the cold bite of morning air, I notice that just across the way, a single black bird is perched on a wire high above the empty street, now wet with the icy slick of overnight rain. I fumble with my car keys and find myself watching the onyx aviator intently. As though at any moment he may just open his tiny beak and offer the secrets of the universe to me and me alone because he knows I can keep a tight lip indeed. He says not a single word, however, and instead cocks his tiny noggin in my direction before opening his sharply bent wings and flitting off like a creature meant for another place and time more promising than these.
The best people are strange, the worst are quite sure of themselves, and the sure ones seem to be everywhere. As I make my way to the office for one of the final times this year, I look out over the Christmas-coated front lawns of the people who have some good fortune but likely not enough to soothe their anxious little heads when they place them upon their pillows in the dead of night. A quiet desperation simmers beneath the festive atmosphere all across the land. I wonder if it will ever pass but that seems impossible now that we’ve dug ourselves a fine grave of a disintegrating existence.
As for myself, it feels very likely I will end the year much as I stepped into it. Poetic while disenchanted, and mostly bewildered by human kind. In search of a type of satisfaction which I have yet to understand, wondering where the hell we’re supposed to go from here.