Tungsten Cooled by the A/C and Minimized by the Bottle
Wind squabbles with the fields of flowers;
stems sway the other way on this day
of forgetting oneself in whiskey.
Here, on these conning pastures reside
a child who chats with his older self
about anything and everything.
.
He talks Tonka Trucks and Iron Tank
and fills himself with tasty tarts
while his elder sits, smiling away.
Says he was lit with starry answers
found inside a tome about nothing.
But somehow he still learned something new.
.
Shoves another slice of pie inside
his mouth and tells himself these little
tales about how he was the smart-bulb—
how his smarts illuminated the
rooms of every single dark classroom
he stepped into—no matter how big.
.
The child persists with chatting and
doesn't notice how fat he is get-
ting, to the point his pants start ripping.
Then the whiskey wears down
to the bladder, triggering
the effect of daze waking.
.
Stays while the owner traces the glass
trails on tile to a light bulb fallen
from its white, spinning, stubby-trunk tree.
The owner of organs gets up slow
and lumbers to the bathroom mirror;
that kid's adult looks back at himself, smiling.
.
.
Posted Oct 18, 2022, 11:23 PM UTC · edited