jolie laide

jolie laide

I started this when I lived in Brooklyn and struggled for grace in a city that grants moments of beauty and ugliness breathtakingly close to one another. Now I live in a place where things are a different kind of ugly and the beauty is pedestrian. I struggle with that.


There is the pluck and gravel of acoustic guitar, the chanteuse cracking and breaking into my ear. Underneath it all is the low thrumming rumble of footsteps in this narrow tunnel. We are packed and surging forward to the trains but ahead I can see the crowd cleaved, one man moving against the onrush. His face floats by me round and flat like a dish. He is missing one eye, the lid sunken against the bone.

I find a place on the platform to wait out this song. I sit, raise my face to the weakened, limping light, feel it stagger against the bones in my face. I clutch a paper cone of flowers to my chest. I have nothing to write on but my paycheck.


Blogger VelVerb said...


8:03 AM  
Blogger ttractor said...

thank you, baby. I'm sorry to hear you are wondering and wandering again.

3:34 PM  
Blogger VelVerb said...

I'm not sure what this references, but if I'm, I'm not wandering again. The "missing" refers to someone I miss from time to time.

10:44 PM  

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