chopping more prose – chop chop chop

But today he was having much of what
he wanted because to have a day
with no special plans was a pretty fine
thing to have; felt bad about it
sometimes; would feel bad about it again;
always did; not today; didn’t feel
bad about it today. Felt fortunate.
Or like Fortune took Fate aside
and they had a little chat

and Fortune told Fate to go find
someone else to mess with for a few months.
That was not the reality.
Would not seriously contend
any event of that nature
actually happened. Unless Fortune
and Fate had clones. Or twins. Or had
omniscient viewpoints. If they had ways
to control slots – the slots could represent

moments and spaces in time or of time
or spaces having relation to time.
And it was not that he actually
conceived that precise manner
of simile or that he was on
a metaphorical
or allegorical
roll. A walk down the street.
That’s all he sought. Didn’t seek

deep meaning or connection. Would love
to connect with the chick at that store.
He could get to it quicker. Decided to stay
out longer; make his trip a long one.
Make his trip a trip heavy
on the detour. Regulating himself.
That’s all he could do. They talked of
regulations. Didn’t allow a long
scrutiny of who said what because those

hilltop pantheons or self-described
robe-garbed pantheon occupants
posed allergen threats to him so he
had to stay safely clear if he’d not stress
or depress what he’d never admit
to anyone, since he was a man, was
a fairly sensitive system.
Wished he could do something to give
the kind of gift to those who needed it;

people whose lives were filled with too many
special plans or even too many plans
that were not so special but just plans, duties,
appointments penciled; just wasn’t
a natural way for people to have to live.
“Hmph. Makes a guy wonder if some secret
committee isn’t working day and night
to bring as much stress as possible
to as many people as possible

in a short a time as possible
and to make it routine as possible.
Horrible
thing to wonder.
To be inspired to wonder
about. Horrible
to happen on a day like this.
Phooey on that.
Phooey on that.”

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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