Sun, 21 Mar 2004



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vague insinuating whispers in the still of the frozen night empty streets and the thrum of electricity and the forlorn wind kicking up the trash, skimming across the puddles of stagnant ooze, sitting in the clogged sewer drains

visions of this city peeled from my memory like onionskin layer by layer like pages off a tattered notebook

it isn't so much whether I was really here or whether all of it really happened

more like unwinding thread substance surrendered stitch by stitch the core of all matter caught in such an infinitesimal space (in the end we are all alone, even our very atoms sit in a still pocket of bleak void spinning in their lonely energy fields)

unwinding the heedless warp and woof of time's careening dance the tangles and the knots bearing lashed-together thorns and brambles as time had spun careless upon the dry, dusty, desert soil picking up all sorts of decaying matter dead things caught in time's trap and the carrion beasts circle and wait

I will not look back not so much because I am afraid of turning into a pillar of salt like poor old Lot's wife but because there is no back only the front side thrown through a wormhole opening up in the mushy expanses of memory gray matter like so much Jello the insides of a can of Spam or corned beef

this goo is all that is real

And this sunshine that lights the misty valley that peeks through the trees lining the crest of the hell this dawn's light to which the purple and white flowers turn even dandelions and the reckless flowers of Jimson's weed bottled up in the untapped depths (woven into my very being enlaid in my very design) bottled up in the wellsprings of my life's blood deep and yearning like the molten nickel and iron swirling beneath our feet the still slow creep of oozing lahar down the side of a blasted open crater (it all oozes out in the end, grows cold, and still)

This sunshine is all I see when I close my eyes— the bleak lightless days the stonehearted, frozen days like the lingering aftertaste of a nightmare all bitter and full of fear like vomit and bile splashed upon the ground after a night of attempted suicide by slow poisonous death these hopeless, heartless days like some parodic horrorshow, squirming and shrinking in the sunlight dessicated like the creepy crawly things that only live at night —gone

so much like lucidity after psychotic hallucinations when the mescaline and peyote, Ecstasy and LSD streaming through your veins and caverns and cisterns runs dry only that acid taste that crawls out of your gut and the ache from the hours of dry heaving

you wake up it doesn't matter where you are much why you are or who you are the relief of the ending night terrors and the comforting solidity of what we call —for lack of a better term— real

00:39:18 21 Mar 2004 > /poetry > permalink > 0 comments


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