I'm seeing a spinning gear inside a grandfather clock. Some Wrinkle In Time-esque cartoon mouse escape route, followed by the clanging of midnight, the hands striking 12, the gong sounding off loudly. Wrenches and all sorts of metallic tools lay strewn across the workbench. A soiled rag, with black oil stains sits abandoned as a nuclear siren sounds. Something about our past catching up with us now. In this basement of four stone walls, I will never be safe enough. I'm counting down the minutes as I sort through dry beans into a bowl, placing the little stones and objects that don't belong to the side. Gizmos and gears on the wall, ticking or just staring, for decoration. Tetris blocks of multi-colors fall in jutted 8-bit fashion as I attempt to flip and fit before it's too late. Logical games of the mind become frustrating when the logic of actions cannot be found. A fleet of ships in the Aegean Sea; The memory shimmers like holographic dust. Mind like a brick in its stubborn determination. Seeing and hearing all evil now. As a treat. This brutal honesty scalawag pirate ship mentality, tastes like the smell of dampness, encasing on this subterranean space. Will there be a flash of light when it's all over? Will there be some step I have forgotten to take, one last line I have forgot to tell somebody? No one wants to die with secret sins on their lips. There needs to be absolvement, absolution. Even if your soul is dirty, isn't the impulse to clean it as best you can if given the choice? Nuclear meltdown, slow down. "These are dangerous days". ADD mindscape, undiagnosed, paranoid germaphobe. No eloquence in this mess. Cold, hard facts. Searching for answers. Down a darkened alley or street, maybe in Boston somewhere, where the light of the streetlamps don't touch the in-between spaces of the city, creating darker shadows. Mr. Fix It - Richard Scarry Fox, old Library computer game I could have played for hours. Lowly the Worm and that protagonist cat. Midnight Rescue and all those Broderbund games. Nostalgia research is in order. 

Author: Roe

she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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