Thursday, December 11, 2014

prose poem 2 - the entropic arrow of time

He stared dully ahead. The soft sand colored blur of winter-dead grass slid on by in the dim light of his periphery. Stretching onward, a dull dusty road formed an unstoppable isosceles triangle …

But, that damned drab pick-up refused to speed up, blocking out the distant vanishing point.

He could imagine past it, though, to a distant place of conceivable future happiness, sunnily lit on some golden afternoon. Future days of possible joy are always bathed in afternoon light.

But, the past still weighed backward; an inescapable morass of previous missteps and bad ideas stuck heavily and ever-widening behind him.

And still that godsdamned truck refused to move.

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