It’s stuck in my throat, this choking howl, these rales rasping on what I’ve swallowed: bezoar of boiled wool from a too-tight jacket I gnawed off, three fingernails that broke ragged as I scratched under a fence. Fool, me, trying to pass as “company.” Semi-feral, wilding under the thinnest crust of a dinnertime smile: load me up, I’ll spit out this hairball of restraint, upchuck all ties. Which fork to use now? The one in the road.
3 comments:
This seems to describe a moment of severe cognitive dissonance, as the manners and etiquettes of the human and natural worlds collide.
Yep. Yes indeed. There is a new voice in these recent blog posts. With each post, I'm startled in a good way.
"... the road is unending ..."
-- Morton Marcus (1936-2009)
Nah, just cranky. I feel better now that I wrote it. :-)
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