eyes ahead, like bandages on the moon. he walks around. he sits among us and waits. his eyes tilted back like the sun. words uncertain, he clings to the hope. what hope? the hope of many. the hope of the silent majority, the few who fight and wish to live again.
i could begin to assert my own amazement, my own fury. i could.
i could initiate the fortune in my mind. i could.
i wonder to the sky. i wonder to the many who wish they could understand that depths of intuition that fortify the walls of this place. this landlocked imagination that spits kindness and shouts of misery. i wonder to the few who have ears and nails and teeth that sit in the bay of today.
i am the one who is myself. i am the one who makes the literate seem powerful. i am the fortunate and brave man who has read the books and written the words and cannot believe the deafening bassoon of light.
pithy. pithy like the glow of fortune that enlightens our dreams and collides unexpectedly with the future. we make that choice. all of us. we all sit and gleam and cry and laugh and wish for more, like rain or land or grief.
i cannot believe the now. nobody can, because there is no belief to be had. just sensation. just pure and wondrous sensation.
I remember the vividness of the moment so well. We were young like yesterday and I could remember the motives behind your gaze of sympathy. I was asked politely to leave and I should have known better. I didn’t. I am often asked about the future by people, people I admire. I have no answers about the future. I have none.
But I could tell of the past. I can remember well.
Like a show that was written. Like the sides to my face I was alone in then graveyard and my fett were bare. I grabbed for the weekend and mistook the truth for gun powder. I loaded the rifle and I shot through the ceiling. I need to know more because I limbs are reeling.
sipping all day, keeping the sand away, i was kidding already and kissing all steady, so i woke up and punched, and sat down and spit, and then i walked aboard the choochoo train and calmed down inside my hat, i was cold like a bean, and feeling my sheen, so i awoke to the mountain and left the ground panting, i was the concise and accurate one, the calm and prophetic one, the lying and cheating one, the mistake of the present one, the shattered memory of the last one, i was killing myself, and killing the song, i was remembering the past and endearing the last, she was trying to beat me, and she almost won the fight, but i swung like ali, and my movements were tight.
hidden behind the world there are faces, not quite the legit kind but the other kind, in the written words of the poets that come close the future, i sit kindly and without remorse. i am the sitter, the one who takes the breath and cries to the skies for help. the eyes turning downward, not quite sure, but still righteous, like the snakes that sit aboard the delta, their eyes turned downward, running along the ground as they seek solace, much like the hummingbird that sits along the neck of the future, and his eyes are keyed on the tree, but the tree is insulted. the tree has been a property owner since the dinosaurs and the dinosaurs were so kind. they used to tell jokes and leave love behind. but the dinosaurs are gone, and the trees must provide shade to all who wish, for the tree is limited in its abilities. the tree can only do so much. the tree has leaves, and the leaves are supported by branches. the tree is fed by the soil, by the dry dirt of the last hundred years, and further down, the dirt of the last two hundred years, and so on, until the core is reached, and the eyes begin to face upward, wondering about sunlight and the moon and the rumors of a tree above ground so large that it provides shade for all of us. you and me too.