Sunday, March 29, 2015

prose poem 8 | dim memories of bright days

I still remember long, sweet hot summer days. So many spikes of sense-memories pressed against lightly closed lids: diving into sun baked cars as searing naugahyde and superheated air overwhelm sense and nerve-endings; windows down, with fast highway air flowing through our wild hair; the whole world tinted amber and still too bright through sunglasses and smiles; laughter, spritely guffaws, barking above forceful speakers; wild freefalling light-weight stomachs while leaping from bridges into muddy rivers; sweet dry cigarette smoke and cold wet beer mingled within the invincibility of youth. We found new ideas, at the day’s end wrapped within softly lit nightscapes. It was free and honest, I think, despite some posturing and lingering lances of remembered repressions.

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