ode to a bucket of soup

exploratory contemporary...


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when I close my eyes I see a man standing on a dune, the sun is setting..clouds flooded with orange and red. he stands alone. motionless. watching the last few minutes of light. he considers the sound of thunder in the distance and staggers himself gently toward it. The sun is gone.

as darkness engulfs him the sounds of his mind begin to be steadily replaced by insects; the occasional bird. a soft wind begins to blow.

the moon rises far above this walking corpse. on his left hand a watch, slightly charred as if by fire, its hands insistent on ticking... sand pours out of a hole in his jacket. every few steps or so the man slips down and grabs a handful of sand, dusting it into his pocket.

out of his inside pocket he pulls a photo. It is of a family. a father, a wife, a son and a sister.
the man looks at this photo for a few moments then scrapes his gloved hand across it before filing it back away safely.

these farcical rituals continue as he walks seemingly towards a bunch of stars nestled in the horizon.