Part 2
Got to stop wearing this tatoo.
I've been told too many times.
She's warm now.
She comes out from under the blankets
and asks.
I explain:
Our power was our idiocy.
We were like stinking worms
and we got what we deserved.
And after that maybe you will feel like
putting your hand through a window too.
Maybe you will also then become as gentle as a lamb
concerned only with apologizing
for bleeding all over the carpet
while others run around shouting.
No one told me it would be like this.
It would stun you and make you reach for the ground
to know the weight of sweetness not taken every day.
It would fill a lifetime to understand it.
Stories would occur.
Birds would not be afraid.
The days of life written on my forehead
are as blank as a drum
and now I am a parasite of anything
which is contentment.
It is time for payment for what has been done.
For the chaos I have caused by my *affections*
people don't even want to see me across a room.
In those places I hardly recognize myself.
Even if I stood outside in the rain for an hour
I still wouldn't understand what has happened.
If I had a dome I would pray in it.
If I had a forest I would fall asleep on the soft ground
under the pines.
In my mind I kiss your eyes and we ride away
fast along the gravel edge of the road
to be as near to be as near to the trees as we can get
and you reach out to touch the boughs as we pass,
Noise
Wind
Acceleration
Sky
We will never be so alive as we are now.
Take me in the fullness of preparation,
ready for Immediate Paradise.
I will drink the poison from the local cup.
Smoke. Coffee. Pills. Wine. Other things.
the little death.
A holiday of sickness.
My throat is turning blue and I have six arms to hold you.
I have seen the stars through the fast low clouds
and I can hear the great rusty buzzsaw in the sky
whining the long slow sinewave
causing me to pray involuntarily.
I'm going back inside with my 'friends'
I can talk like an idiot and they will mercifully not even hear me
they are so much worse off.
Take this slow escalator down.
It used to be 'adventure' but now
you know what to do.
Hold your head up high,
smile into the face of Rose Memory,
and Fail.
Go down to your knees like a shot buffalo.
Crumple to the sacred linoleum of our ancestors.
I know I screwed things up.
I know you stopped trusting me
and I know you are unhappy now.
There's not much to say.
Something false has become as strong as a trap.
Failure.
Reliability.
Statelessness.
I have lived touching the embroidered border on the blanket.
I was made for it.
I think of myself smiling,
and I do.
It is payment
for not being you.
Parasite of the air
I blacken the shadow behind you
and then I am all over you
with my swarming locust arms
and the collective intelligence of a million tongueless idiots,
no one caring,
no one driving,
dead leaf,
physics at the edge of control
the streaming particles afterglide and past.
You will think it was a strange thought in the middle of the warm part of the day
as you stroll along the sandy beach wearing only the thin dress made of
some wild see-through artificial fabric.
The smell of sweat and perfume makes me shudder and twist
and I find you everywhere under the folds of that whispy dress.
In other circumstances I would love to pin you against a tree
and put my tongue into your mouth (I love trees so very much).
I would like to see the wet hair against the pale skin under that fragrant dress.
You will think it was a stranger thought
or just a daydream
but you will be sore there
and there
and even there,
and it will make you smile
(I can see you smiling now)
From now on this smile will be known as "****** smilng..."
and at that very moment
I will be floating away from my abruptly halted body
whispering "thank you all"
thank you for preventing me from doing any more Harm.
And if I'm lucky
I will be going to a familiar meadow
I have always known about.
There I will raise bees on white clover,
and there a woman will appear far away
and walk up to me forever.
she is barefoot,
ankle bracelet jingling and
mocassins dangling from her hand.
Sincerely yours,
the Warehouse of Experience
The reasons you give are just a train you take to go away.
The collected wisdom of all times.
The word that comes to the lips without thinking, is,
Forget.
No one can protect any one else.
Micro-engineered pieces of truthful design
pass through your skin like punctuation.
Who spices this starvation diet?
My worn steps.
My brief afternoons in the house of the Blessed.
Who would co-habit our bodies
as I once wore you like a lovely uniform,
my angularity there,
and there.
Cotton silence.
Love in the afterglide.
Black sail - she isn't there.
White sail - come up the stairs.
the Dome.
the place where dry leaves and paper
fall upward,
thankfully.
These gifts of qualities we lace with our days and our plans.
Our boats have visited every land and people.
Still,
our hope is that they bring only you.
If you have known contentment I will remind you.
If you ahve become *precious* stone I will dissolve you.
If you become the sky I will blacken your depth with pure time.
And even if you become the ocean,
I will drown you,
although you will call it *being set on fire*,
again
and again
and again
and again...