Apocarteresis (a-po-car-ter’-e-sis): Casting of all hope away from one thing and placing it on another source altogether.
There was always love, and I took it, and I twisted it, and I tore it; I crumpled it, lit it on fire and threw it over the abyss between knowing and hoping–burning, sparking, smoking, falling, drowning in the bitter sloe pool; lukewarm and slithering–churning and grey, thick with the ashes of extinguished love–a perfect sump for hell.
Now, as I awaken frigid in the dim cramped closet where I hang, smelling camphor, and mothballs, and the left-over odors of long-departed clothes, I think of the bodies that wore them as they tore through life’s fashion arcade, wanting to look good, wanting to wear the latest, wanting to be admired and loved.
Now gone forever, only their empty hangers remain–some are plastic, some are wire, some are cedar, but they all hang quietly with eternally perfect spaces between them, keeping them perfectly apart.
How do I get down from here and touch the floor, and feel its wooden smoothness underneath my feet?
If I could only unbutton the clothes that hold me, I could slide off my hanger, leave my pants, and sandals, and shirt, and softly walk away.
To feel the wood, and then the earth, under my bare wiggly toes! To feel the sun and brush my teeth!
Back on the surface, back on my feet, I shall walk naked to Paradise (a famous shopping mall). There, I shall be refashioned; and looking good, and being admired, I shall be loved, and being loved, like a permanent-press shirt I shall tumble dry on low and feel the warmth of the cycle as my wrinkles smooth. I will I find love, and give love, and be loved, and that’s all there is.
Back to the ground! Back to the dirt! Back to the pleasures and all the things that hurt.
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Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)