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.
of course the characters were there, we could see them all clearly, and we knew in unison that there was more work to be done. i was aware of that. i think everybody was.
i had to know the course of training we were asked for, but i was let down by it all. i was consumed by the horror ahead. i was made to feel terrible, and i was the only one apparently thrown from the edge, towards the border where i was found a while later. i was taken for a fool. i was. but i was not foolish. i was the hero for a short time. for a few moments, i was held in awed and admiration and i love that.
i had to know more, so i kept pushing downward, towards the shore, feeling selected or broken, but always a bit alarmed or concerned. i felt there was a need there, so i could not pursue myself any further. i was the last one to know, of course, so there had to be jets and planes and atmospheres and all time put together. i had to say that much. i had to admit as much to myself.
i was chosen by the police because i was the cherished one, i was the one with the adult perspective and the savvy and cynicism. i was the learned one.
so i thought, or maybe so i think i thought now then
i kept rambling so she told me shut up. i was taken for a fool. i said to her, stop taking me for a fool. you need to take me for a hero.
she could not believe my ineptitude. i cowered in fear from her eyes, sweet and velvety they kissed me so gently i was in love in a moment.
i hovered nearby. i held my glass. i circled her, inspecting her features, yes yes yes, fine fine fine, lovely, wonderful, wow
i had to know her
so i battled ahead with certitude and a feeling a righteousness not uncommon to these parts
i was left alone and hurt, really hurt all the way through.
i had to let myself down, but i did not know how. i did not know how to leave here. i did not know.
i was scared of the future, scared of the past, and scared of the now. i had to leave myself alone, to bath myself in myself as it were, to find the missing link, to pursue at all costs, to run the mill, to bark loudly at the titans nearby. i had to believe for just a few moments that i was special. i had to believe that much.
i can take you seriously i can. i can take you to the edge and i can remember the paths we had to take. i can remember very well.
i almost always fixate on the future. almost always.
i think of those days often. i think of them fondly. i remember when there was more to see than myself, more to hold than myself, more to me than myself, and i was palatable.
my identity was fluid, as it were. i mean to say that i had not yet sold myself to a specific bidder concerning who or what would be my face to you all.
now as a man left alone, finally and finally, i can say with absolute certitude that the light was the brightest when i was the brightest, that is to say, i remember myself more than i remember others. that is to say, i miss myself. and i hope to see him very soon. i remember when…
diddle daddle, take the paddle, take the right moves and push away, the distant far away provinces of the near now and the newly near, we seek to fit and fet and faint away the rain, like a savage beast and a savage heart and the only statement and the last debasement and the necessary pattern and the lucky one, the primary matter and the little tatters and the fat trombone, the man who wails away, his heart in the moon and the moon in his paw, he eats salvation and drinks faith with a straw, he is little and round, and round and little, and he sits far away from us all, he dancing skills on the window, his reflection stark and true, he wears a hat,
his eyes glazed over in love, his hands taken aback by the first word I was struck by the gentility of the madness inside. I was left lying awake at the dawn of a new age, one of integrity and knowledge, the eyes lit like demons in the sun and our own bastardization was the tired triumph of the day. i was struck by the sensitivity of it all, the kindling fire and the moaning lake.
The ides of telling days were inspired by myself and the superstitious splendor of sobriety the catacombs of course still inside the polite splendor of noon I said. I was polite enough to know to apologize and I was strange enough to seek salvation in security.
Moving forward to the sun keeping it all along there is no reason to surrender holding hope hostage for future fountains forgetting false moments. I remember the coarse moments and the false steps I took but still sip solemnly towards the sensible dares.
when we wake up we see the light in front of us, the sky above us and the dirty ruins of modernity beneath our boots. i wake up and see my nephew, his hair blonde and fresh. i want nothing to do with him. i tease him but i love him. my pa needs me. some heifer is dead. tough shit. we should sell them all anyway. start a new life, start drilling for oil. my pa is too stubborn.
nobody leaves me alone. i drift off into town and leave my hat at my lady’s place, i get picked up for causing a nuisance, but nobody minds. people are entertained by me. someday the old man will die.
now that cattle are dead and gone, we can start fresh. i can bring the kid along and teach him the way of the land. he thinks he knows but he dont. i can teach him, like pa taught me.
there he goes. i better get him. cant lose the kid.
forget him. he dont know nothing.
i hand you over to the man beside me, his own eyes remembering me as if i was gone, poetry in motion you said, the loudest one is you i said. we both fell backwards and then we wondered to the people closest to us whether we were meant to be. i was not. i was the bitten angel, the wrathful dove, allowed to be still for no real reason other than to hold and remember that today of all days was my special day.