conversation with mr hyde
lift
yourself off the pavement
that
is slow perpetual death
life
is light and bright
and
it happens
on
every city street
and
country road
where
the stars burst-poke
every
ripe fiber you have
your
eyes are controlled
by
your fear and
cultivate
blind memory
the
nose knows
smells
every truth
weighted
down somewhere
past
midnight
my
mind wanders
toward
another drink to feel
I
like the high when alone
and
early Autumn says bow
to
the scent of Summer
mr
hyde I presume
under
this manic
near
full Moon
he
a ghost
that
follows me
home
to home and
just
waits right outside
waiting
for things
that
were once green
to
become burning poems
to
become seed heads
waiting
for greed
to
come together
like
wet spun clay-ed intention
waiting
for my hands-on frenzy to begin
waiting
with no care or no worry
just
the collection stores and labels
in
the shadow lines marked in chalk
on
the brick walls
I
chose the alley and its iron bits
driven
deep into the past
someone
bought this building
awhile
ago just for the garage
and
I think about that every time
I
am on a walk home at four am
with
mr hyde waiting for me
he
knows me when my lies are dry
and
won’t paint anymore
and
the stain is all that is left
he
always said to let go
of
everything to love
but
I could not answer the question
of
what is love anyway
I
say this out loud and
mr
hyde just smiles
some
seen answer in the dark
that
I know without having to hear it
and
we find ourselves entwined
by
the sat edge of tomorrow morning
holding
on to rusted eyes
we
have found like bent bottle caps
walking
home with us
we
are one
we
want something
in
each other
I
no longer wait
for a clearer picture
of
something beyond reason
beyond
what we are doing
when
bandages are as good
as
time and
only use words
like
maybe
instead
of we’ll do it
in the morning
and
we might feel better
but
I never do
I
just run away and
find anything I can
that
still seeks me
without
a name
I wave at every you I meet
that
says sheep might be better for sleep
and
I just nod hoping you
were
being facetious
blinking
into the temples of the dark
watching
me pee in the silence
as
the dew is heavy petting the decay
to
herald the rain with some written notice
posted
in the form of a building permit
and
the odd car that passes by
a
few blocks away where the dark
is
a game we play guessing
who
will rise first
the
Sun or my spirit
inside madness again
EJR
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