so many so much for such a time as this, how the land has filled and how songs remain the same, it is our diminishing hearing and purposeful volume adjustment. education continues and eye notice that the eyes have lost sight of any and all destinations for our present, the season’s ego olympics have commenced and governmental hacks are shredding the news and making paper mache burgers for the population’s happy meals much to my amusement, i am what popeye said he was, and that’s that all I am too, I Am, a sorting state of being becoming a galactic dust bunny beneath Divinity’s dining table.
The way is milky, clouds scratch at my sky for the waxing of the moon, ascending stars, and descending opinions. Remembering the paramount, peeking peak toward what is due East , I am bowed and do abbeyance with a thought to my Original Thought to perceive these flickering lights and costumed horses for what they actually are. How wide and large my home in the gaseous clouds of nebula and celestial forests, spaceous in need of sweeping, swirling morphing and collapsing in a Raga of the spheres Elegante.
now i move on this watercourse, going as gravity posits me in the small of this and broad of that, the paint of my lips and malice of forethoughts yet forgiven, words aptly and abruptly finished me as a bullet in my addled brain and i kiss farewell the threshhold of the nest gone down in the Flood, a day when we sang as kids and made believe of everything possible or not, hid and sought each other just for our friendship without a thought that we might live to see more or less of the same destined for stardom at our event horizon.
I acknowledge it’s a big neighborhood, a man tells me he is the Landlord and I examine his credentials, he is, in fact a collector of Ideals and dispenser of trivial pursuits, a diviner of petroleum futures and prognosticater of whether war wins the Way, …i demure, and gesticulate genuflect and generally back out of any agreements I’ve made for the future with any hopes for prospreity, propriety and a promise of pretty kids. I fling now, fly off handles and hack at stooped and stupid beings bent to their grave postures of grabbing grubbing politics of broomstick colonoscopies, wishes for Santa and Richard Nixon. but…it’s home and my heart is grateful to have been dead and gone and be back on track to raise sand, cadavers , saints, despots, trouble, discord and disputes…and talk Nice if it happens in such and such a way.
I’ll be lurking and watching from the rooftops, I am armed, I am dangerous to the endangered with a good reason, pay no attention, pay your way, pay your friend’s way, buy some companionship, like someone, like something and like yourself from time to time, share sorrow, we all got it and be uncomfortable it’s a legitimate feeling too…
a wide galaxy, a big house, a bunch of strangers, different ways, strange voices and inflections, the smell of garlic and whiskey, tobacco and marijuana, sex and the city, hai karate, sweat, blood and the taste of your sweat on my tongue, viscous flesh, laborious breathing and orgasmic fantasm. There’s no place like home.