Luci Lane

yellow brick road photo: yellow brick road yellowbrickroad.jpg

“Yellow Brick Road”

He is flawless and I will possess his heart, but he can’t know the truth, not yet. How I like a cold, fresh stick of butter, no crumbs, no residual jam smeared across the corner. I need my toast crunchy, and if it’s slightly burned, I start over. I like my bathroom sink dry, no splashes of water or toothpaste stains on the mirror. I don’t wear earplugs because I can hear my brain working, the crunch of bones and the echo of my swallow, throat clearing and nose sniffle is deafening, more deafening than the sounds I’m trying to cover up on the outside. When I sleep, the pillow between my lower legs has to fit from just above my knee to just below my ankle. It’s not the chalkboard or the dentist’s drill, but the excruciating sound of a paper napkin or a dry towel rubbing between fingers. My peace of mind comes from an empty trash bin or a sandwich cut evenly, no tomato slipping out the sides. No stains. No blemishes. Put it right. Straighten the stacks and layers. I hear my neighbor flossing his teeth again. He’s not doing it right. There are 59 black gum stains on this stretch of sidewalk. A homeless man is sitting in a pool of his own urine eating a hamburger. Don’t make eye contact. Hold your breath. Knock on wood. Wipe it off with alcohol, All of it. Wash my yellow brick road with Murphy’s Oil Soap all the way to the temple that is mine, where I sit cross-legged, quiet, focused, and perfectly clenched inside. Flawless man takes me in his arms like they do in the pictures and whispers something in my ear in a foreign language I don’t understand. He smells like cotton candy. Suddenly his voice is drowned by a galloping in the distance as he vanishes like they do on the transporters aboard the Starship Enterprise. The big sky opens up (sigh)…not him again. That Knight in unpolished armor keeps showing up. Take a number. Press eight if you’d like to hear more options or remain on hold for the next Unavailable man. Unavailable. Unclean. Unhitched. Seriously, I know he’s out there, but he can’t see me buried under these filthy loads, behind the clutter, over the heaps of things, through a thick coating of muck and 2.6 trillion pounds of waste in a massive landfill.

Luci Lane

© 2013


  1. lkthayer · August 12, 2013

    I love your work Luci welcome back to The Juice Bar!

  2. Fred Whitlock · August 13, 2013

    Great description of when life / one’s mind becomes an overflowing landfill

  3. Katie · August 13, 2013

    I love your writing. Doing some great work Luci.

  4. Katherine · August 13, 2013

    Took me right in… and caught the Oh! so recognizable vulnerabilities off guard. Keep writing girl!

  5. LizTN · August 13, 2013

    Love that Luci Lane. Go girl!

  6. Alexis Rhone Fancher · August 13, 2013

    Whoa! That’s some roller coaster writing!

  7. theshespot · August 13, 2013

    Miss Luci, thanks for sharing your insides! I will look forward to your next one.

  8. Matthew Hetznecker · August 14, 2013

    The claustrophobia of the unyielding mind, bent on controlling the world and to squeeze in it’s desires. Yikes.

  9. Mitch · August 14, 2013

    Don’t we just love a good ramble… So easy to think these thoughts.. so damn hard to stop the world and write them down!!
    That’s why this is soooooo good!

  10. laverne · August 14, 2013

    the details suck me in and take me on such a journey – it’s so raw and vulnerable and my heart is no longer lonely

  11. adeshkaur · August 14, 2013

    L. L.
    Darling one. You are killing me here. This piece is too naked and I love you more for the genius that you shared. “He smells like cotton candy.” Plus, I will never butter my toast again without thinking of you.

  12. tracy mccubbin · August 18, 2013


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