The 2d story

A memory
constructed
construed;
from broken milk teeth
and old old tea table.

Spans into a middle age man,

Or a boy who thinks he is old

Still biting candy out of wrappers

And playing pop music

Chained to the rhythm.

Watching and staring

At the computer screen

Flipping through online sites

Worrying about the MS word cursor.

Blinking.

The coffee mug is empty

My table is cluttered

The song has been playing in loop.

 

Time is no longer relative

It has actually stopped

My watch has stopped ticking

I can hear time cry.

 

There is a tiny pimple

On my freshly-mowed cheeks

That I see in Louie’s face

A kaleidoscopic reflection of my childhood.

 

But sometimes

I feel paper thin

Like I am the paper

Or its me in ink.

 

I am floating in an origami world

Being floated and folded

Into a fine little duckling

Waiting to be slaughtered.

 

I am

A product

Among the multitude

Of them stacked

And racked in shelves

 

No, no. I am a dream.

A slip.

Into some dumb person’s imagination

Where memories are just lying flat

Staring at the skies

Like two lovers

In 2d.