just lucky enough to be a notion

buddy’s back on the cable box seeking warmth.
it feels like, what?…sixty-five degrees?
the gray, cool damp wafts into the loft to my right at the open window that leads to the fire escape.
in all my time here, i never spent more than a moment on the fire escape and i don’t know why.
the small, wrought-iron world was always a part of “where i lived.” there were insignificantly-historic moments in that limited space that may have mattered for a moment or two.
i remember some, i don’t remember others.
the ones i don’t recall might be better left forgotten.

driving across brooklyn today, i stopped at a red light at flatlands and alabama avenues when a huge yawn wailed out of me.
at that moment, a guy was exiting his parked car ten feet from me.
“that is exactly how i feel.” he said, passing in front of my car and crossing the street.
at the exact-same moment, we busted out laughing.
the guy was about my age. it was a moment.
i knew that he knew.
it was two geezer-strangers sharing latter-middle-age heavy gravity, “why don’t my legs work like they used to?,” terminal exhaustion…oh, to yawn…to expel. when i yawned the great yawn, a small amount of death escaped from me and went on a recon mission.
it took until i was well asleep before my yawn was anywhere near anything interesting.
that might sound like words of someone who’s been to europe a few too many times, like the ho-hum of a jaded world-traveler, but i thought my path would have been different from the times i headed out toward “the eighth electro-plasma ocean of the ninth dimension,” the lesson being that i need to vary my launch patterns.
i tend to go “out there” the same way all the time, probably because of the earthbound practice of getting from point to point and forgetting how much more interesting it is when i aim pointlessly.
does that make any sense?
i probably need to get into the habit of aiming “everywhere-all-at-once” like i used to.

in five days, maxx will legally bound about and run in wide arcs upon the sandy beaches of fort tilden with no fear of government reprisals upon either of our persons and another year will have come and gone without a parking sticker affixed to the bumper of the car.
i was totally ready to get one this year, too.
the change of seasons give me quiet joy.
i welcome the coming remoteness, the black and whiteness.

before moving forward, again i need to step back.
i can do this with relative ease now that directionlessness (probably not a word) has given me the wherewithoutitall (undoubtedly not a word) to mimic the broadstroke paintsplash the end-of-time on this mortal coil might be.
maybe this was a dream or it was sent to me in that big old yawn when my mouth opened causing my eyes to close…

About stephen trimboli

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