An Old Memory, part deux

Assuredly, I would have lost my mind eons ago if I was resigned to the metropolitan constant, to the influx of the city complete.

I vaguely recall the places I used to frequent around there. Areas where the horizon met the sky in a near faultless correspondence. I would sneak away with a most fantastically mediocre bottle of red wine. Only to sip it softly off the neck, as gentle as I can perform any one thing.

Lights peak from behind me on the trail. I think it is far too quiet for a train. It must be patrol. I saunter casually, move aside. I am not alarmed. I come to a small overpass or bridge, it’s dark, and it lays some ten or so feet above the ground, above my head by only three.This small rail bridge defends a dried up creek, a most insignificant crack in the earth.

I cork the Noir and proceed to position myself in the dark, away from the approaching lights, in those wet shadows of both late late night and early early morn. A city block away, above me, the sound of metal on metal and the rumble of their nigh consent conjoin in a cacophony of brash brilliance.  I realize this is not unfamiliar at all. Foreign pressing hard adjacent to native. This is an authority of another sort all together.

Everything is in shadow. I am waiting for this train. The automated lackluster machine approaches the bridge. Suddenly one large continuous tremble shakes the the Earth awake. The train passes over, roaring above me aloft by inches. The wheels buzz by overhead completely naive of my fragility a few feet below. This archaic foundation supports this metallic mammoth like an ancient Egyptian Madonna. We are both rattling.

Absurdly, then, I realize the most captivating part of this place is the — calm. Like facing rapid water, knowing the shape of the current because — it’s already pulled you under. It was so close. It was that close.

There were a lot of places and memories like these around where I used to live;  water, trains, rivers, floods, rocks. You know the sort. The sort of things that are solidly and unabashedly without equal.

My Father Once Told Me of Love

And we’ll walk and talk of stories
I’ll start swapping mine for yours
And you’ll tell me not to worry
About whatever came before
You’ll stop me on the sidewalk
brush my hair behind my ear
and finish your smiling thought by saying
“Baby it’s all or nothing out here.”

My father once told me of love
or more so what it’s not
whatever it is, or was
by now I have plain forgot.

The Great American Spirit

Our life is a sneeze to please.
But sometimes we’ll break free,
Just to be replaced, or
repackaged for a fee.

Don’t submit to entitlement issues.
Government run by excited piss tissues.
Take a percentage off the top, I got lots.
Taxes, brackets, what a racket.
Twenty fourteen is but a dream.
Empty your pockets, it’s not what it seems.

Hoard it up like TLC, check your vitals, you ain’t like me.
Hoard it up like TLC, check your vitals, you ain’t like me.

We all want to be royalty.

Be That Thing

be that thing that jumps out of its own skin
or spends hours in bed trying to venture to that distant star
ask for the beginning
ask for the reckoning

we claim art
we claim nonsense
we claim  balance
we claim process

I want to be done claiming shit
I want to actually do exactly the opposite

that clock belongs in the garbage, the calendar too
it was useful once, but no longer suits