the play of water
the trickling lights
worries the bones
whips and whirls
your fossil self...
if we could only move
if we could only breathe
if this were not water:
a gentle breeze
a playful melody, the rustling of hair
not the embalming grasp
not the deep resounding bass: bohm! bohm!
the mere semblance of it
the end of drownings: freedom
but there is only water
and i fear the ship cannot hold.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
The Things I Saw
Dirty bar and me sitting in it watching that day go by. Looking to my left I see old bear drinking his oranges, not a care in the damn world and I say to myself “Damn.” This world keeps on spinning us passengers all unawares. Looking to my right, that old bartender looking like something out of a silent movie, a western one at that, asks if I want another, and I nod and he nods and that whole process repeats once more with him pouring and I wondering if I should offer thanks. I do of course and take in what’s before me, it's bitter but I make do because the lord knows we can’t complain about what’s made free. And still that bear sits drinking his oranges.
Getting up I wobble to the old jukebox and ask it for a song, and of course it complies and we would all get to dancing, if we knew how to dance, but still we get something going and it’s all rather fine. I’m feeling good listening to that box spout its funny tune and I begin wondering just what it would take to make such a funny machine emit such funny sounds. Caught in that reverie there’s a tap on my shoulder and looking to my left I spy Old Dracula smiling. Dracula’s smiling his fang smile, and I imagine my smile might be a sort of a wild fang smile itself, we laugh off the good times together at the usual table and people come and go wondering just what kind of people two stranger regulars like us would get up and about to talk about on a Saturday sunset such as the one we’re now viewing.
And that was fine, because we were fine all thinking Hemmingway and wondering just what that old man must be up to and what he would say, and what we would say back. For a while we decided that moving beats still, and getting up that old silent cowboy sepia humming bartender put the whole damn bar into motion. It was strange but it was also fine and me and Dracula found it mighty funny how the whole situation had played out
It wasn’t till later, long after that whole reverie of feeling and motion watching the sun sink into that hidden hole in Ireland, that the others arrived. It was a tough shift to go from something so deep to something so crazy, but it was also fine with old Ben Franklin making speeches and the rest of the congregation shocked into listening while preoccupied with little events here and there of their own.
And it was wild but it was also fine, me and Dracula now joined by Mumrah, now off from work,began discussing whatever of Ben’s thoughts most peaked our interest and there were a great many things to speak about. We spoke and we listened and we spoke again and noticing that Ben was done, we called him over to our table to discuss whatever tickled our fine fancies.
And it was fine us laughing hard at one another’s foolishness and looking off to my left what did I spy, but Old Fred Bear still drinking his oranges. I called him over and together we laughed and laughed and laughed. Oh the things I saw and what I could tell you.
Flip of the Coin
We think of the man who stepped on the butterfly and elected Hitler
as a cautionary tale,
but what if that butterfly fixed our economy?
He’d be a God-damned hero.
Sometimes I find ‘People Watchers’ indecisive as a whole.
This however may be their saving grace,
Because ‘Person Watching’ is illegal.
My professor once said: “you do not become an English Major because you like to read.”
Perhaps he was right, but from someone who does not particularly enjoy reading,
I imagine it certainly helps.
There are times when people will
Get the urge to shock themselves into new experiences.
Extroverts will do something crazy.
Introverts will go outside.
So I found these healthy Oreos.
They’re still bad for you.
Selling a poem is much like selling a piece of yourself,
Only nobody will pay for it,
And it is highly legal.
When asked what one fears most, I feel we rarely betray ourselves.
For Instance when asked, I might say Responsibility;
When what I really mean is Spider-Baths.
There is absolutely no way in the world.
To go up stairs.
And not look like an idiot.
If jogging in place did anything,
It wouldn't be necessary to leave your house.
If I had a dollar for every sly attempt at humor at the expense of politicians I read on a
Yahoo News comment board,
I would still owe exorbitant student loans.
Cheetos are the most sadistic of snacks.
They shame you with the mark of orange cheese fingers,
Smugly knowing that you will be back for more.
So the legend goes that one Christmas a poor family was not able to afford to decorate their tree, so God creating a miracle, had spiders spin brilliant silver webs among the branches.
It was certainly a nice gesture, but perhaps it was also a warning as to what might happen,
If you fail to decorate your house.
An Endless Moment's Failure At Living
I'm the kind of person who sets their alarm to the wrong am or pm,
Rushes out of the house,
and in a huff,
arrives only to realize,
that I'm 10 minutes early.
When I am actually 30 minutes late.
Do you know,
Those Little Russian Dolls?
The Cannibals of each their smaller size,
Their inverse expulsion to once more be laid bare?
How they might be like people,
With our many masks?
Each one removed,
To find another beneath?
More or Less hidden?
How when all is excised,
You find nothing inside.
What was missing I wonder,
The Smallest Piece?
Some kind of cosmic joke,
To find yourself the onion,
In a store full of mangos.
The Parable of The Riverboat Captain
In a time there was a boy who used to live upon the river. Day by day he watched the majestic boats travel it with awe. So inspired was he by the grace of the boats upon the beautiful river, he found that when he could make time he wanted little else other than to watch that peaceful, endless, struggle.
How rare to know one’s path so soon. As the boy aged, he eventually found his way aboard one of those magnificent river boats, and so the days passed by as he labored hard and fulfilled beside his beloved river.
Like this, the boy became a man, and the man The Captain. One day guiding the mighty boat upon the river he found that the mystery of it all had long since departed. He knew the bends and the turns, master of the craft and by extension his lovely river; he glided amongst it day by day.
The man tried fondly to remember what it was he had once seen in the river as a boy, but alas he could not. The magic had long since departed, and with it, what it was he once saw.