The other side of a peacan
by Kada aka K.A.Ambrose

“Zephyr-ed gray, layered blur,the sky hangs flatly in the minds motion. Bland colored overcoats, umbrellas, on people down headed, like remorseful Preying Mantis’ speed along. Shielding anguish, passing flashes, all red, red blurs, pink shot quicks, in pose, while jogging left right to avoid the gutters menaced splash; a torrential vision vehicle, reflections of Monet’s Bridge in black and grey. To tell in only gossipy expressions, scenes spewed orange inner pointing statures. Innocuous with borders of sheer free creation juxtaposition as complacent puffs. While it is vengeance with a stoics demeanor, composed in it’s agitated frenzy. A fury contorted peaceful while blood drips easy puddles. Proposed, superficial incrimination thunders in passive immobility. Waiting the coming ariival of spiral winds, accumulations, to tear rips from the body holy. Their creations justify their purity, flailing wimpish arms as gladdened sacrifices, old in the offering laid on a plateau still, stationary in its age, like the wrinkled softness of an electrically preserved heart”

Our one is many ones,one who’s stopped. Doesn’t move Doesn’t emit reproduced noise; stationary as dirt on a stop sign. Jon.

“Banging is emitted. It is a glare. Wrapping the city in sounds, the flapping pigeon wins, rebellious hoarse car roars, Panic ambulance screams, to the bashful whim laughter all sardonic simplicity over alvoistic, crevasse thin high tympani of gray frigid cries of the streets refracted residential s. sighing poisonous arias as loud as death’s civility. “

All alien thought, the homeless, unstable, addicts, artist, all ones addicted to life and some to death Ruling themselves fro themselves. The silent sleepers sheltered nightly or quietly dieing from the hard bent ill society on park curbside or the metro station. Our Anut Freds, our Uncle Judys siphoning from parked cars.

“To clear their heads”

Or the twins, who pull the inherent pranks stationed evolutionarily blind in serial killers.

“You remember the cat how it’s blood seeped into the sidewalk as you cried. And they made fun of you.”

or your brown haired cousin , the Lisper, a little nown parental abuse subject.

“who you made fun of”
All satisfied themselves themselves.

His hands mumble.

“ clay solid structures leather pink stuffed gloves, over worn and dirt embedded, truths staffed to arms proving evolution of belief, as the umbrella clicks, snapping class position, but just a hand, which lies bare palm up for the eyes spasmodic twitching”

Our one breaths softly, slowly adjusting his back closer to the bricks cold. His knees grate his chest. The half crouch, an observed mediation. Passed a total scene in front of the hands spring palm reposed peasantry.
Our one became a preacher who followed his church instead of the reverse. Long ago he held mass on an empty lot, surrounding himself with a closed fence. his flock would come to the edges and tell in preaching unity, all notes without words, summer convergences. Jon remained as a en lightener, others losed track instead. He considers himself stationary against the wind, standing ambiguous of the present as it is ambiguous to it’s self, a stoic future base. Grounding a times Call for need and welfare remembered.

Now our one feels the time to move pushing up to stand. Stretching to the contrite pose.Shifting to stiff weight, while leaning against the wall, portions ketching streaming shatters to his knitted jacket.
“Over twists. Diagrams spinal, helixing pain, DNA drawing light projectin sparks narrowed down to shards”
Erect.
“Shaking twisting falling ketching vision of butterfly lass sculptures breaking on a tile mosaic at full sun.”
Proving his huddling need, the body now surrounded by a cold sweat chill up through toes double wrapped in old socks. Moving at a slow peacefull speed.
“Ochre swoops pass, excellerated violence, smearing vision with ideal. Running so as not to find themselves pleading in their own regrets. Sheilding ever shielding, refusing disease, in their malady, fetiousness, their overindulgent sanity. upward images catching droplets perniciously on points off staffing, to watch the semicircular descent, off umbrellas and clean arms, leaving their bodies untouched, uncomprehending, disregarding old sweat, feces, and piss, cigarette butts as any wasted idea. Leaving someone to clean up but never them. passing with thoughts of income and purchase”
Ours moves to feed. A shelter tired to time will open soon it’s disciplined doors. Macrooney and cheese day, the burnt taste on tip. But jon is untimely, and the line is formed lon. Unnervingly long, all spoils for the bake.
“jon” yelled from somewhere
“jon”
a twist
A shift
a maimed consciousness
a guile
a lie
a truth believed in substance”
“Glaring lights, sun spanned climax vision, saints flyin mercilessly, hovering over streets paved in chard intertwined sticks, seemingly small mouse bones, Rickety black physical inner wear, cries engulf the streets GIVE RISE TO FREEDOM. Wailed of air pushing , enveloping the spirits lyres into a quizery of replies in tone and nothing.
standing amid it all Jon is naked, no reaction to physical skyness of cold. just glimin with posed pluto-ian pious.
“jon” contorted in physical illness of shape.Simon says again “jon”
Supported by metal crutches he reminds more the noise constant, unheard, thud scrape, thud ,scraping the concrete. A genetic mutant, life from gladdened thoughts “i am not dead” How many better to be, those those totally fit works illed by mind and not physic. Simon has the force of existance we may lose in perfect process and plastic pretense.
“gotta cigarette” Simon mumbles to Jon’s negative shake.

More of our fleers.
Sam and Andy, standing just before the entrance, sparking the last drags each from a shared cigarette, Dressed in fatigues, the bleeding bonds, Green brown splotched worried and waring gulfs of truths forgotten. They are joined in their paid price, Drinking to the coming end but mostly for a past war.
“Youth subtracted virginity added to glorified patriotism, mixed slowly with a seductive lover of violent sadism. Drink quells the savage passionate resentment of societal complimentary light speed images,and conscious freudian mortality. Dreaming over battles and bombs, encased echoing mortar shells, machine gun turrets, by approaching parks, over trash labeled Burger Five and please keep our city clean. Brotherhood is a sigh and and inhaled shriek, charging down liquid revulsion and true revolution. To touch the intricacy of ecstasy with a militants waking to god.
And more.
Joan, a feeble old women, long forgotten systems pride, toting large shopping bags, screaming at them as her mothers image to her. “Shelter 1919, food raids, oh guns” Her bags shudder with the wind as reply. “I tell you the story you never listen, Damn you. Fear these dirty men shall not harm you.” Her voice turns softer. “i love you” squeecks out “i love you , don’t please don’t ” legs stumbling into an alley.
The “sane” parasites, call after her. Sammy and the wine crew. all nondescript. worn but alive . Only showing the refuge they’ve taken on mornings without wine. as they slowly start shaking. Talking humbly till the seizures paralyzes and a resounding clunk wakes all to their fall, a skull wrapping kiss on cement. “there she goes” Sammy mentions mutely as the others resolve a bottle. “ain’t no such thing as a free bottle” “yeah there is , I go in and the man he ave me one” “you crazy mother fucker you gave him something.. fool”
All soundless to the noise. Harshness emitted from Bmw and more construction noise, From the louds of the street, forgotten lives, Mixing “Thud Scrap” and “you mother” and the ever silent “bombs” All explosive reactions before the quiet shelter door’s inner peace.
Part three

Spasmostically slow the doors open, as ours goes in, watching the cold floor wetted in dirt, creating pictures, create, erase, create, in boot mud, a natural expression of the transient. We could deliver it to the Fruedians and the Museum of Fine Arts, each acclaiming the posterity with “tortured designed sculptures of present day minds. showing a perverse acknowledgment of the degradation of society.
our has his fee, Humanly looking to his plate a turkey dinner. Freezer of some warehouse emptied for defrosting, desired to provide, To take his bow is a representive in holy cleanliness, high purity, wishes everyone “Happy Thanksgiving” Announcing commercially ‘by Beatrice” AS air passes the entrance, Flowing ice ponds for a holey shoe vengeance.
A clanging of trays lifts our’s thoughts, he looks up...

A shift
A twist
A maimed consciousness

A guile
A lie
A truth believed in substance.
‘Shelter Shelter screams a man. Ours pulls back in fright as well as better view. Veins pulsating on a God crying man, Purple red over lying deep blue straining strains of a solid neck leading a gnarled chin. Under forcefully teared eyes sparked the fleer's fleeing thoughts in the tightness of area, the tightness of pose, the man is transferring pain to the physical to free the spiritual self by the scream. A soul yell , deep from the diaphragm, projecting out the darkness, expelling the ridicule for the comprehended.
Our view is expanded giving mirth it’s view of an exposed nature. lights buffets the clouds and birds laugh over the breeze gliding on the ebb and currents. Force must be delable and considerate of nature. Looking down, in front of the screamer, falls off the land, three inches from his bare toes. The jagged descent of dreams , a brown earth’s welcome, Death and Peace. Scantily clad our figure jumps, Arms outstretched, legs tucked fetally,welcoming the truths of dualities.”

Metal blurred, tin and aluminum inter mixtures. Plates with spots of food, remains of lunch. Sammy now drunken tap dancer sparks his feet. Tappclan,crappa tappatpptasappclan. To crashing feet and wild yelling cheers in the self proclaimed “metallic feet in giggles” Filling ears with laughter. The chaotic pounding Cla, tapptapppp, ends Sammy’s dance. Lungs heaving and smiles immediately forgotten. Someone brought the bottle in, A free drink , yet, to sink. Ours goes to the street.
A repetitious cycle can never rest until spiral pointed then .. Can motion stop in a void?
Ours moves, no increased speed but with an extra shadow, The Thud scrape.
ours only looks ahead, Partnership stands alone in the way of truth. both exist but unto a bridges construction is solidity. no support is no repression. Judgment is a caring mans sanity, not a sane man’s caring.
Blocks desist from remembrance.but the “thud, scape” and traffic noise.
A win approaches from the east. It is the bringer, It the faded love'rs voice, shocking, dispelling. Ejecting the reason, Citizens see it, Pushing off their hats, a bully trying to provoke response in safety. Nature of it’s own. imposing, instead of being imposed upon.
Ours has faded with his answers. His praise , His truths, like ourselves . Swaying with anger love and frustration, like ourselves selves with human maturity instead of humanitarian results.
Nestling in the common foundations of the public library. Lossing the steadying verse, Flying passed the page....
A twist
A shift
A maimed consciousness
A guile
A lie
A truth believed in substance.
A Spanish harbor, Glaring street lights beam in soft romance with the waters blackened reflection. Two children, dressed in shorts of blue and matching shirts in green.Throw a red ball. which is frozen half way between them. Never moving in the paralyzed scene.
A tribute of bells rings clearly in echoes off some staunched way. Intertwined with the fresh tone. of a woman's singing to the nights love and romantic preservation, Melodies off stairs leading to possessions of intoxicated pure surrender. Left to the children in an off beat sync. Make straight harmonies off a small boat slapping at is mooring.
Ours moves through the picture , no injury, The moment captured, never controlled . He looks into the refracted visions. and survives the importance of ready beauty. Weaving pictures of quality, life styles and patience.