Saturday, June 2, 2012


life, the one you know. it doesn't return. and so the unrecognizable can be scary for awhile. there embedded in circumstances, people, these precious precious sand dripping do something with yourself modes of existence, are the same insecurities, superficial wounds, skin, sensitive skin and chemical hopes of fill in the blank transcendent chunk, active chunk. standing on kingdoms of plastic, eyes in glare, relief at the bottoms of tumblers small, tumblers large, tumbling down hills like rolling stones for three day weekends or mandated grace periods, returning the same and changed.

a black kid's hands sliding along the neck of his left-handed guitar at an open-mic night. a mother limping down the sidewalk, eyes wrinkled in laughter because she can't help it, because it's funny. it's funny talking shit to your best friend on the phone in fragments of unspeakable drivel and dementia because somewhere along the way you both understood that there'd be no need for the middle part. and you clamor, silently or by open mouthed design, clamor, the pots and pans bang loud banging loud for someone to wake up in the middle of the night and understand the urges that tear at your insides for escape in form however abstract.

two strangers meet, say hello, fall in love, say goodbye, become strangers again. and all the wonders they made together, glow for all to see, twinkle in nursery rhymes, spin earth, spin, please keep spinning for the rest of us, we're not finished, we don't know why but we're not finished. i can use my hands, never mind complacency, lack of dramatic motion, my hands will tell you the truth, they'll press and grip and pray in reverence to the physical world, slip through the curtain, grant access to that electric field, it's terrible god, the velocity and strength of the indifferent current, interconnected golden spiderweb lightning singular energy ever-surging invisibly composing and vigorously regulating our existence, it's terrible and i'll channel it with my hands and construct something in dazzling likeness and express compassion and bring eyes to a close, opening them again.

you said the silence was louder tonight. i grabbed you close to me, kissed your mouth with the hunger of wanting to live, kept kissing you, everywhere, until you shook those series of shakes which communicate two souls and light up our brains. and kept kissing you. the victory over death is expressed by shared lips, perpetuates itself through inexplicably connected understanding hearts, shared by touch, texture, gratitude, in this physical realm, trusting in the magnetism that brings two people incredibly close despite themselves, knowledge, concern, trust in the undeniable evidence of wanting you, wanting to be together. creating something intensely moving in presence. painting, sleeping, waking, together. i want to write you a fireworks show, let it dream like the smokey aftermath, then reveal the night sky as a magician pulling the table cloth in one flurry to the amazement and wonderful arrangement of what's already there and eternally will be there, change black pocket of the universe and bring new suns, murder stars, entangle constellations, the universe will sort itself out in one great act of love. i know this to be true.