Time and time again we fooled ourselves into thinking everything was alright; that events would unfold smoothly. Our future livelihoods would be mapped out with firm interest, adolescent passion and perpetual curiosity. Unknowingly beaten into bleak submission; dark crevices remained in dark residential corners of urban basement laundry-rooms. Who paid the utility bill in the beginning? Who put in the dreaded leg-work? Occasional sidewalk strolls down cemented pathways, sauntering adamantly home from corner delicatessens
on maple evenings in Autumn.
The sky bled red and grey patterns from a windswept stratosphere. Five 'o clock family-dinner sorrow
coming down,
back home on planet earth;
wearisome and fatigued amongst daily routines. Teenage stigma beat me into an bloody pulp; carried me absent-minded into my thirties.
In earlier days we anticipated this time-period in radiant premonition of ethereal tapestries, spread out against faded living room ceiling cornices; pillared July windows haunted youthful imagination amid sullen yesterdays of expired vaccinations. Withered oak-tree firmaments enveloped an hollow backyard perimeter; where in sweltering summer myriad swarms of lake flies hovered in and out torn screen window openings
into suburban bedroom translucency
Decade old window air-conditioner units dripped tepid moisture into second story gutter drainpipes.
Relationships took time to work through; always did and always will. We still won't sacrifice any effort. A warm day in January; post-Xmas depression: the nation's suicide rate sky-rocketed to it's annual zenith; as it usually does this time of year. Siblings quarrel throughout pensive Saturday playground upheavals, aside early afternoon river embankments. Family-trees adorned in maladjusted boredom along tenuous state-lines of domesticated incest. Queer feelings arose while recapturing blackout incidents among timorous pastimes; shamed intervals of deceitful words derived from drunken hearths of indignant vanity.
(Things said and done cannot be taken back; cannot be repaid in deliberate apologetics.)
Do not feed us euphoric horse tranquilizers beside bucolic pastures filled with brazen livestock foliage. Do not take me out past phosphorescent city limits to watch remote lights flicker from an nocturnal skyline. I will not make-out with you on the baby-blue hood of your '96 Cadillac below incoming commercial airliners. You do not have to buy the latest perfume and spread it all over your pale body; I want to taste the real thing. Want to walk you home as our breathing diminishes to seething shadows along wintry forest floors, carpeted in moonlit boughs and swaying cypress branches; evening village streetlamps illumined dusk-tree silhouetted outlines. Streetcars solemnly rasped past wary pedestrians in modern syllables.
(Fashion died and was never to be born-again; someone decided that it wasn't, then everyone followed.)
A dead man in his early twenties currently visits me amongst putrid morning hours, terrestrial communion through my chamber window; snowy sleep and florid moments aside neighborhood radiators; he hasn't a corporeal anatomy to touch, though he lost not his head; he counsels me beyond his humanly years and conception; sexual immorality wasn't his motto; no lies frequent his limited vocabulary; he knows tempestuous gusts of wind coming in off the vast Atlantic perimeter
below crescent moon cycles of Mayan descent;
we believed their millennium old lies
below the fallen rain that collects in muddy pools
throughout cemetery parking-lots;
smash me in the face with your clenched fist,
then weep
like embryonic children
crying out to
primeval dungeon deities.
No comments:
Post a Comment