Road Ducks The path was made of lunch meats. I had a few ducks with me. One of them was totally black. He had an amulet gently attached to his left leg in which a 100-dollar bill had been rolled tightly and concealed. I called that duck two-bill. Or sometimes, William-William, when I was feeling inclined to emote or articulate matters at length. There were as many questions as time had pockets. And I realized that we are those pockets, and we’re full of questions, too. We didn’t eat any of the meat, me and the ducks had brought our own provisions. I was eating food from my dreams, in my dreams, and as for them, they foraged far away at night. In places as anonymous as they were, to me, unreachable. Sometimes, the road was pretty greasy. I was relieved, at night, to leave it for the grassy fields or woodlands nearby. I couldn’t remember when we started out, and frankly, it no longer mattered. For in every way available to sense or even fantasy, this road made of lunch meats, inexplicable and intransigent as it was, had to be traveled by us five in just this fashion. The fifth member has asked that their identity remain concealed. As I said previously. As many questions as time has pockets. And then some.
Posted on: Fri, 18 Apr 2014 22:20:15 +0000
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