RED DIGITAL ALARM CLOCK ❋ Jay Winston Ritchie
“Sky” is a word that describes whatever is consistent above a person
from one horizon to the next.
On a similar note,
I keep seeing this girl Elissa who once borrowed my scientific calculator in 10th grade
in the faces of my new undergraduate classmates,
and everywhere I go people are smiling at their cell phones.
Today is better than the day I learned the Ghostbusters theme on guitar—
even better than the day I first heard the concept for the Halloween costume “Edward 40oz.-hands”.
I wouldn’t be surprised if someone handed me a cocktail bun right now.
Yes, it’s one of those days;
a day when I catch a beautiful girl opening her 12th-floor window to lean out and smoke a cigarette,
and looking up at her looking down at the city, her forearms on the windowsill as if it were the shoulder of God playing the latest version of “Earth” on PC,
I see her wonder why God put that Thai restaurant underground,
wonder what God’s plans are for the abandoned post office,
see her marvel at the straight lines every person seems to walk in,
share her vow to jaywalk in parabolas whenever possible from this day forth.
The following thought isn’t important, but I want to voice it anyway:
the amount of novels, death, and broken lease agreements will only ever increase.
I bet not even Wikipedia knows what happened in 1315. I bet somebody used a clamshell as a spoon.
Sparrows are bathing in the concave tables on the patio at Second Cup after a sudden downpour
and the scope of my emotional project is panoramic as a song named after a freeway.
The sky will be pink tonight if the clouds hang around.