it reflects tuesday at 4:32pm.
plethoric golden evening moons. moons of planets of telescopic fictions. glue
of a history ... i chose to adopt, albeit i was six, and as impressionable as
my mother's cotton slippers, i DID take a leap. i DID close my eyes and let my
left ear guide me to a point; a finite point that revealed itself almost
immediately. i closed my right ear and drank through my left; and ever since
that morning immemorial, kindergarten post ... the tether post has held me, and
stopped my mad dives towards a playful mouse, with the whip of shackles and a
sore neck: spinal cracker ... bent just enough to carry my intellect on pelvic
shelf, and ever-so-clean, with thick mineral wall between it and earth. and
earthly desires. and honesty. and poetry. and murder. for a mistress.
Does it ever amount to anything more than a slice of last night? or a puff from
last year's holy pipe? holy only, because it sits memorial, enabling
inappropriate attention and ooohhh-so-selective journalism? I shall venture to
claim ... rarely. To invest more than ME in media communicative, a feeling or a
moment wherein no self sullies simplicity, sullies experience!
I have no money dear friend. An absolute law, an absolute lie.
A nervous hand ... a noteworthy act of kindness.
OK i take it all back!!! i judged and i doubted and i know now that no-one
knows what they're putting into it, but that it is THAT which makes the whole
show a show, and a piece and a streak of warm sun through frost and modest
glass, to my feet. and it is what i previously thought it was to negate ... and
to smoke ... you. to invite you ... another fleshy vessel into my morrow and
put my ambiguous gas, my wishes, to your clearly defined spark ... to smoke you
and exhale you and you inseperable from my centre. my central channel ... and
the most beautiful blue puffs you've ever seen, slip peacefully through glowing
lips, red. and blue. me. and you.
it IS good. so many minnows. and people with pillows.
it's big, and a sea. and while i love thee, obsess over thee, require thee, i'm
told i don't see ... the other minnows. in my sea. and they all have beautiful
pillow scents, they all have collar bones like snowflakes. no ONE even
resembles one other. and i NEED you?! aahh, the brute knuckled love that beats
down my years and makes me young again: a child at dinner, who sits pouting for
hours, more determined to sleep out forty days at the kitchen table, then to
consider touching the yellow on his plate.