C

I see.
I see the light.
With the light I can see the planks.
Using the axe the planks, ripped open, show the room as if seeing it through a broken frame.
The room is pleasant, 1970’s kitch, and I see that I’m alone.
The door is locked but I feel above it and touch a key placed there and I bring it down to where I can see the lock.
Giant bats rouse and unfurl and I close that door and lock it up and turn to see what else I can find.
A rug, aside, shows a door with a big iron ring whose rust indicates quietly that it has seen better days.
The rust crinkles inside my fingers but I manage to yank the trap up and can barely see into the ebony dark.
I use my flare gun and, moving .87c fast, I follow its arching bullet to a tunnel I was lucky to have been aiming toward as I lightly leap from gator back to back in the well-like basement.
The tunnel has a lantern perched on a rusty nail which I see lit with my butane enlightening tool and before those lumbering gators can climb up.
The winds and ups and downs mask pits and booby traps but I can see the signs and avoid these.
Smelling salt tanged breezes presage my coming to a green water sea that goes to and then up the horizon with frothy waving.
I pull out my raft and pocket prop and am soon flicking from swell swell to sweller swell and even some of the swellest swells before lifting up the stern to continue perpendicularly up as far as I can see.
The moon is crescently up by now, winking at me, as I reach the brim and, for a mo, fly up in the air until a decent wind blows me onto the sea’s plateau top.
A dock looms out of the waves as I aim toward it and I pluck it from the green waters and lay it carefully in the boat so as not to puncture anything which would, of course, render it unseaworthy.
Continuing on, well after the moon has sunk, I see bright phosphorescence of the Australus Krill variety to the right, which only appear in proximity to land and I make my that away quick and fully aware that I may be late (or early) for something.
The darkness is so dark that I only hear the sand grating before I know that I am no longer at sea but at land.
My dock in my lapel hole I brush out my pants and jacket and use the flashlight app on my iDevice Classic to follow the patio stones when I see them.
The path through the jungle soon becomes a box canyon and after rights and leftwards, but none seaward, I come to a curtain wall.
Parting the curtain I see that I am in a small booth with planks.
Using the axe the planks, ripped open, show the room as if seeing it through a broken frame.
I see the light.
I see.

About tgrignon

I came I saw I rented the DVD
This entry was posted in Miscellany and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to C

  1. Pingback: Silly Poems with Terry | Golbing

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