Feb 16 21
A street lamp lights up a very large tree, probably a Beech. Elsewhere it is mostly dark except for a straight, sparse rhythm of other street lamps and the occasional doubling of a light in yellow brown puddles. At the end of a low concrete wall, at the farthest reach of the tree, is parked a sedan. It is incomparably beautiful. It is blue but is as close to being black as possible; the paint has vague iridescence. The windows of the car are the same color as the sky. There is a finish on the paint that makes the leftover rain form into neat, bulbous droplets. Little wisps of steam rise as if from miniature bongs as the heat of the engine converts the liquid to gas. There is an aura around the car that possibilities are finite, specific and very unstable.
The engine is idling deep, low, and healthily; the sound of night insects add a rhythm to the sonorous gurgle. On the steering wheel rest two, delicate, tattooed hands. On the right is a tragedy mask and the left a comedy mask. It seems that they are intended to be metallic. They are both crying; the “comedy mask” does not seem like it is having a better time than the tragedy one. They were done so that they appear upright to the driver. The tip of the littlest finger of the left hand is missing and healed. On the passenger seat is a bag of a deep green color.
On the other side of the concrete barrier, about 10 feet down there is a pair of mourning doves. They are darting nervous glances, and pecking at gravel and what looks like broken compact disc pieces. Behind them, on the wall, is some sort of spray painted writing. It’s hard to tell what it says as the pale blue letters were gone over in a pale pink. Maybe “mel” or “meb”?
The engine is idling deep, low, and healthily; the sound of night insects add a rhythm to the sonorous gurgle. On the steering wheel rest two, delicate, tattooed hands. On the right is a tragedy mask and the left a comedy mask. It seems that they are intended to be metallic. They are both crying; the “comedy mask” does not seem like it is having a better time than the tragedy one. They were done so that they appear upright to the driver. The tip of the littlest finger of the left hand is missing and healed. On the passenger seat is a bag of a deep green color.
On the other side of the concrete barrier, about 10 feet down there is a pair of mourning doves. They are darting nervous glances, and pecking at gravel and what looks like broken compact disc pieces. Behind them, on the wall, is some sort of spray painted writing. It’s hard to tell what it says as the pale blue letters were gone over in a pale pink. Maybe “mel” or “meb”?