Thursday, June 15, 2023

The Only Living Boy in New York

Half of the time we're gone, 

                            but we don't know where. 

                                            We don't know where. 


In my car, this song is life. 

I hear pointed distress, thick and devout. 

Someone is leaving another less fortunate someone behind.

Deep breaths. Deeper breaths. The deepest breath I can take. 

I drive and I dive.

Simon is Poseidon. I surf his sonorous wave; foamy indigo, quenching and swelling; suddenly ungovernable as the echo of Garfunkel's hypnotic and hoary backing vocal swamps me in its icy undertow and I am dragged beneath.

My throat closes. I pull over. I taste ocean salt on my face. 

Garfunkel's mewl is no match for my own as I increase the volume to a level which requires absolute pacifistic surrender.

I caterwaul in a voice I barely recognize and then let my head hang. 

I drown. 




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