February 27, 2013

when you pattern a sequence, shave off an even number of odd intervals

photo by Keith Spencer © 
a fine tree covered tarmac told me to take the last train to the middle of nowhere

muttered, mattered
tearing, tattered
Edward, you always
hide your intentions
your flights of fancy
and disregard
you wear humanity
too close to the sleeve
no one believes you
can be that lazy

doesn't everyone
know me by now
I say I have no faith
this world is unfit for human life
every way we view ourselves
is particle fiction
a felt fiber rubbed revelation
clouds are giving directions
culling information and disinformation
killing dissertations with
a shroud temple oligarchy
in profit we trust
is the dis-assembly line of any nation
it is our dug knees, pleasing
the world’s chase
of a paper dollar dream

she was school-marm charm
I was boarding house drifter
a take-me-in refugee
her eyes said see if he can swim, first

I see monsters here. ma'am
at night when I turn off the lights
I see your daughter slaying dragons
is she a changeling, I ask
does she remember things
even the very old things
right down to their
atomic level design platform

well, school-marm says, in nodding gleam
her stuffed animals are portal trigger points
and though she is twenty something years old
she has kept them painted to a child-like perspective
this disarms the observer, sir
I guess she figures some things are supposed
to be so familiar to us that they transcend our senses
some things are not meant to be remembered so much
as felt in the emotional alchemy that leaves our body
when we weave lifetimes into spaces
of time and memory

I think what my daughter remembers 
is that we actually become a living fabric
between the scents and raptures
of all the things we’ve encountered
along the way to where we are
right now

some of us 
will always wait
some of us 
will always wade
and yes there are
some of us
always willing
to take a walk
on the road
less traveled
shall we, sir
your fire 
needs tending


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