The Soul of the Slobbering Hound

Whole weeks go by and the words don’t come, but bark instead from the cavernous deep of my longing, of my confusion, of my loved and lost, of my ambition and inadequacy, of my dying, of my fear, of my disgust. Barking like slobbering hounds, ungrateful for the opportunity I’ve given them to live again, to be reborn, but no. They are creatures of habit, these dogs, these thoughts, this heart of mine. It wants what it had, and only when it gets it will it start wanting everything else as well.

Sunday

my steering wheel is sticky

My steering wheel is sticky. It has honey on it. And pear. And chocolate. And tears. It has sun screen. And lip balm. And 97 octane super unleaded. It has orange peel. And ink. And a little caramel.

My steering wheel is sticky. But I'm used to it now.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Beautiful and so thought provoking. I can feel that each thing you list has a story of its own. I wonder how many things in our lives are built up with these patterned memories.