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Replying to a comment on:
Volkswagon (Free verse) by ErgoErgun
I'm driving across the rusted railway bridge of my life:
A shoddy piece of architecture constructed under the strict supervision
of
unadulterated eccentricity and some lonely swigs on empty bottles.
The bridge's knees buckle with doubt...
(Doubt: rancid pollution that corrodes the skeleton of mortality [my
mortality].)
But still - in this presupposed hazard hope springs from a railing
lining the edges, reading
"Don't drive off. It's better up here."
I like hope.
It makes driving shitfaced possible...
and falling off the bridge impossible
But even with life's caveat, hope bears its own doubt -
An indefinite wearying glamour that taxes the richest in spirit:
I'm tired of looking for someone.
I'm tired of living every moment of every day like it's my bedtime,
waiting to drift away but gripping a semblance of reality (with tiny
hands).
I'm tired of waiting.
And still, in her I see the same gentle uneasiness of a life fraught
with doubt but fluttering to live.
I see the life of a driver.
What? Where'd this woman come from?
Shut up. Life on the road doesn't make much sense.
Images come and go like a merry-go-round infinite,
and I simply like dreaming.
I'm taxed and I want to dream.
Isn't that what hope is?
Yeah.
A shitfaced, beautiful dream....................................
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