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patterns of ink

How fruitless to be ever thinking yet never embrace a thought... to have the power to believe and believe it's all for naught. I, too, have reckoned time and truth (content to wonder if not think) in metaphors and meaning and endless patterns of ink. Perhaps a few may find their way to the world where others live, sharing not just thoughts I've gathered but those I wish to give. Tom Kapanka

Monday, October 30, 2006

When Mom Walks Through
the TV Room
the Week Before Halloween

Turn it. This is scary.
I can tell by the music.
Why do you even watch these things?
Turn it. There’s got to be something else on.
Where’s that girl going? Oh, right.
She’s alone and opens a squeaky door.
Turn it. I don’t like this spooky music.
Watch. She’s going to get killed.
The dumb girl always does.
Turn it. Is she an extra or a star?
If she’s an extra, she’s dead.
What normal girl would even be there?
Turn it. You girls will never sleep.
She’s going down the stairs
to a basement with no light. Right.
Turn it or you’ll be up all night.


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