Sat stumped, wind down my legs. Birds coded hallucinations in intricate song, one tweeting sideways while another ate bugs to scales unknown to earth ears. What, sweat like black blood wipes clear? I thought I’d cut my pineal gland out with a sharpened deer antler earlier to help me sleep, but I must have missed and lobotomized myself. No matter. The stump knows gravity, I know the stump. This is why I come here to these wet woods. Beauty wrapped in death linens, mind gone with the morning rain. When they find me, my hands will have rotted off from exposed prayers to the dark unknown green beyond the edge of my failing vision.
My only hope is that a family of birds make love in my chest to keep my heart company.
Hey, you’re going to want this. Hey, come on, look at me here man, look in my eyes and see that giggling dancer there. That little spot contains my whole universe. Hole universe, you know? No, c’mon don’t look away. I got what you’re looking for. Every seen a shiny angel get shot out of the sky and buried in a shallow grave in the hills? Every taken dust from an old book and started mixing it with you’re own blood and writing with ghost fingers on the walls that no one can see. No one, I’m telling you. You need this shit. Let me give you this shit. You’re old lady, she like to get high and scrape her head across the sky until little bits of her ears fall off and get stuck to the stars? How you gonna help her out, huh? Just take a little. Take it. It’s yours. You’ll come back. Once the fires leave the ground and come knocking on your door like spooked children around dawn. Once bats start telling your future back at you like an echo of now. Once they dry you out and print all over your paper-thin skin and you can just sit there and read yourself all day ‘cuz your eyes don’t move anymore. Just take it. You’ll be back.
And so we see, wrapped in ink and paper thin, the eternal flower of the mountain unwithered and still grasping to the knuckles the spring from which burst the writhing stew that spread from sea to sea to summit to moon and, with meat visions sizzling under elegant skull, the old mother (but how young her voice!), still dreaming in sheets made wet with human dew, cries once more Yes.
my god what is that sound
we’re being bombed!
no time, no time! to the guns!
where should I point?
up up up at the moon for all I care just point and
fire and fire and fire and fire
until the stars themselves regret casting their light so forcefully upon our freedom!
i don’t see any flashes of light.
but don’t you hear the roaring of death? don’t you hear the screams of all of your friends? don’t you hear the grinding of the enemy?
oh I hear some things i suppose but see nothing but the quiet wind.
what are you, eyes? fire fire fire!
feel the flame and smell the track of the bullets
as they whiz by the clouds.
I believe I will just sit quietly until your tongue dries up.