paths... (3)

by human being

with contributions by francis scudellari and horace p sternwall

illustrations by rhoda penmarq

third of five parts

to begin at the beginning, click here

the circle i draw  cuts its own path i watch it lovingly as it disappears out of my sight * There’s a sidewalk here, the city has poured, cemented with smooth and perfect squares. It leads to all the usual places, only altering when at last it crumbles. There's also the rough- cut route I’ll walk, taking Aeolus by his shaky hand to stroll where moths mingle, dandelions dance, and destinations giggle tickled by our setting suns. - Late summer's stroll  by Francis Scudellari * on my way i came across a woman buying and selling other people's secrets - buy something! - i don't need anything... i travel light - you want to sell some of your secrets then! - no... i've got none - everyone has got at least a few secrets! - nobody has got any secrets - then what are these i have here? - they are your hiding places inflation is not a change but deflation is on my way i came across an unflying bird she was lying on the ground with drooping wings and an unsinging beak i hold her in my hands and looked into her sad eyes he loved me, she started in a broken voice, but his love was a cage he'd envy the sky if i flied he'd hate the trees if i sat in them he thought all i sang had to be about him relating my songs to himself reproaching me for the joy or the grief or the anger i expressed towards things in my life i didn't fly i didn't sing i forgot my voice and even my wings but one day i came to myself i was not a bird anymore who am i then? i ran away but he came after me he said he loved me but his love was a cage he said he loved me but his love was death these were the last words of the bird gradually my hands grew cold i buried her in my words and continued on my way wondering if the hunters ever love the birds * many strange dreams i tried to weave into what i really believe but something always broke the spell so now - i'll never tell - i'll never tell  by horace p sternwall *

part 4