Friday, September 30, 2011

Some Endless Night (We'll Finally Meet)

We are keeping the lines open. I am breathless where the trail turns and it's all uphill going home. The Canadian thistle somehow glows and reminds me of ghosts, against which I pray and profess my love for Jesus. Some endless night we'll finally meet and talk about the party we'll have then! Much bluster, much busking. Memories of a road in Amsterdam, drunk and high in a shadowed doorway, realizing that something essential eluded me nonetheless. The old house is always dark and the dream of it flaming, windows exploding, frightens me. Pay attention to your thoughts if you want to know how to handle live eels on a stage. Nothing good comes of the city, son. Second-guessing is the costume arrogance wears to keep us feeling doubtful and broken and in need still of salvation from - you guessed it - external sources. God and the clam diggers singing in the light. "We're one but we're not the same." He wrote - thinking this time about rhyme - yeah, right. A Johnny Cash sentimentality regarding death and judgment informs the morning. In the distance, a safe place, while here - now - the raw open blisters of forbidden desire. You can't say it that way! Her religious views include stuffed animals and reconsiderations of sentience. We are the flowers we don't know the names of. Hey, let's laugh it up, let's let go. Now and again one senses the moon knows what one doesn't and it's still okay (or it will be).

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