A Rhapsody In D Minor: Part 2

PART THE SECOND Bathed in our brother’s blood. Bearing the bread. Bearing the bomb. On we plow, without repentance without shame nor penance. Muddy boots filled with determined feet it ignites crossfire with the speed of darkness tap, tap, tap, brrrattaatatattat, kaboom. legs like molasses, hold their place marking that spot with their footprints. one by one they fall tap, tap, tap yet somewhere in the world there is the sound of Pachelbel’s Canon in D and the thought of a warm fireplace and pinot noir. The coffee’s cream rises to the surface the waitress with her wavering smiles, glances over to the wall where the television preaches its sermons to the onlookers around channel 1, channel 2, channel 3… she tells you about how her mother died last Saturday. You pretend to listen with the upmost interest. The monotone shade of the newspaper bores your eyes more than her sob story. To be frank, the permanence of the world’s activity couldn’t be less stirring. So you listen, keenly. You end up crying with her a pang of despondency creeps down your spine and shutters your feeble frame to your very fingertips. channel 4, channel 5, channel 6… rain and moonlight through the shudders sleeping on the couch and giving in Adderall and Citalopram Praying and the lack of Church clothes, people that don’t quite fit with each other songs that don’t quite fit with the weather and light that fits perfectly with a raindrop.