My gargoyle posture guards a screen
that shows me whatever I tell it to as long as I can stand the pain. Immobility means my left leg shouldn't feel added pressure, because there is no such thing as more when nothing is moving. I am a screech owl with a broken neck only capable of turning thirty degrees left, right fifteen. Vulture wings clipped before I can remember, no feathers remain on my body. A stiff wind blows from the inside out, shivers what muscles remain. There are not many bone structures my age. Most have succumb to bombing runs. Not sure if the pilots were righteous or just out for fun. Something about being stuck without help, at risk to the consequences of natural disasters that might occur inside my room. Hey, spiders have been known to tap dance across my desk, others atop my head, but always before. This concrete is nearly dry and my settling can almost be counted as complete. Shouldn't be long now before my head lolls back leaving my mouth wagged open, no longer able to howl at the moon if someone sets me outside.
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Travis NaughtTravis Laurence Naught is an author who happens to be a quadriplegic wheelchair user. His debut novel, Joyride (Black Rose Writing, 2016), and poetry memoirs, The Virgin Journals (ASD Publishing, 2012) and Still Journaling (e-book, 2013), are available through popular booksellers. Individual poems, stories, reviews, and articles by Travis have been published widely online and in print. Check out naughtapoet.blogspot.com for more original writing information about Travis! |