One B.C. *
I climb down into the darkness while the water seeping from the cracks between bricks drips around me into the rushing wastewater below. Each step, every rung, I take, I grasp, leads, no, carries me away from Their realities. The snake I see in the mirror slithers deeper into the sewer where a feast of rats waits to be eaten.The bricks sweat under the strain of a torrential downpour.
Roaches, unsure of my intent, scatter into the shadows.
I reach the bottom of the manhole and peer into the upstream pipe to see your ego flooding toward me. I should have known the clouds of doubt hanging over my head earlier in the day formed not from my doubts but from yours of me.
My place of meditation, my Mecca, my manhole, takes a sepulchral form instead and the universe of realities that is you-and-me is no more as your ego washes over me and floods the chamber.
Moral: Friendships and eternity only last as long as someone remembers.
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* One year after knowing Brenda Craig.
[from: “Of Friends, Neighbors, Lovers and Miscellaneous Passers-by”, 1992, published by Tree Trunk Productions]
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