Purgatorio
Ignorance sits up upon her pedestal and casts forth a wicked gaze. No words. It’s dull malice in her eyes. I avert mine and look out across the landscape adorning my porch and ochroid vista.
Weariness rolls over the hills, limping crops and penises and flowers in vases. There are marigolds on the veranda in a pot that has seen far too many wet winters. The townside is sleepy. My hair is unkept.
Thought of Age has me traveling Duplicity. I am a hundred and fifty two years old and in my prime. Flipping fingers and pages written by my own hand and illustrated with the simple power of an aurous mind.
At floor seven and a half point five – and at the fourty-ninth stair I pause to say hello with much melodrama and flair. True to form, on Heaven I ascend.
“All hope embrace ye who enter here.”
Climb, Jason, climb.
– JH™
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Aft:
I wrote this as an email just now. Very “where I’m at”, rounding corners.
8 months ago • 0 notes