1/21/2003

1/21/2003 - 12:00

I walked into the apartment at the top of the stairs, remembering her date with the oil man. Silent. I turned the light on in the kitchen and just as fast it burned out. It seemed like all 60 watts were multiplied and burned in a millisecond in a brilliant white flash. Fsssst!

The stool too rickety, I chose a dining room chair to stand on and loosened the pearlescent globe. Hmm, no light bulbs. Ah, the bathroom, yes! The bathroom has a fixture with three bulbs. Brutal. In the morning the searing rays force me back a couple of steps 'till I can adjust my eyelids to a slit and trudge on. They also amplify my receding hair line. So goes the middle bulb, justification complete.

The sun had burned out a half hour earlier. Painting golden patina over all. Each color jumps and softens, bubbles and spreads till dusk throws its purple shadows on all the spirits and saints and cars and buildings and broken trees and angels.

The light bulb, the sun and the spririts daring to be human are always most brilliant just before they burn out.