le mouton noir


wednesday…


   i feel like i could drink coffee all day and still not be awake enough to find the answers for the questioning faces that stare down from the constellations every night… that whispering in my ear, punctuated emotions that flow together as one long thought, as if i’m eavesdropping on a conversation in french… i catch the sentiment, but miss the details. it could be his life story, perhaps, a witness to an international crime and smuggled to a mexican beach, escaping the paris bronx alone with one brother and one sister with whom he’s still on bad terms… and i just sit there, listening and empathizing with my own imagination and just when i think they are happily reunited he’s crying, sobbing, short bursts of tears that mirror his words and i look up, feel like i’m witnessing a very intimate scene from a silent movie whose screening i somehow snuck into, and look around to see who has noticed i’m there.


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