Two deaf mute women sat at a table with a small child. The child shrieked and banged spoons on plates disturbing the peace of the place. But the deaf mute woman were without the proper senses to equip them with awareness of such a thing as disturbing so they could put an end to it. No one felt it was their jurisdiction to say anything, thus they sipped their coffee and the child carried on.
Zoning out.
Gelatinous mint.
Soothsayer of doctors.
Your brain will fix itself
if you lie in bed and remember
your dreams.
A trinity of ambition
will wake you and retire your sleepy
eyes and tendency toward catatonic gorging
with another complicated veil to
stiffen the train of thought
and spin a tick tock
gobble of a time
well spent doing nothing.
scribblings, jottings, scenes & stories of Jeff Phillips, writer/performer/producer.
2 comments:
I thought that was the start of a joke. Two def mute women walk into a bar . . .
Seriously, I'm enjoying your well-written and warped writings!
I'm sensing some themes here.
"La folie qu'on enferme."
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