the death of the monkey
trapped in glass
Red, the red stays. It disintegrates as I touch it. Trapped in time, I
locate myself, and drift back to now. I wait, then shift back so nothing
feels real. You ask yourself where the story begins, but I don’t know.
Monkey arrived on a dark red carpet of sky, and I didn’t question his
entrance, because it was grand for an un-evolved man. He stayed hidden in
my walls for years without disturbing my years of solitude. Shards of light
pierced the veinous skin of my house and exposed his primate shape.
Planets ‘round the sun they dance in line, following the chief.
Nights came and passed because I was numb with fear, knowing that the
hiding Monkey was here. Why am I scared of an animal? Am I not an animal with
a brain that thinks? Should I save myself?Run from the animal that is me,
that is the Monkey.
Too many thoughts swirled my head as I walk the streets, away from the
breathing animals of concrete and wood. Eating away, drinking away, soon,
soon. I watch through my eyes made of glass, think large, protecting myself
from not seeing life, unprotected. But so I go, and I see. Endlessly
spinning, walking, dancing, dancing in cosmic space dust rain made of
Napoleon and Plato, of Neanderthal and Neo. I span a century of walking and
forget the child of my travels, and remember the father of my fears, the
Monkey.
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