where are you? Mar 7, 2012
where are you? give me a sign i can understand not like a crow on a cactus but like a firm farm handshake or a finger on a map ,when it starts to rain so i will know where and when to deliver this letter ,i will tuck it in your pocket when you are not looking and laugh and not tell you wh to an address in the future ("hello?") a house that has not yet been built containing a person i do not yet? know ,in colors i am not aware of (we are hopeless ,i am sorry ) on a street effectively without name in an area whose numbers are all 'X', whose astrology is regular solids tetrahedron, dodecahedron, cube. i want it to feel real and not like i made it up. so i will use some true things and some lies. i will paint with reds and yellows and greens, a great big blue sky and a happy little tree or two. P.S. this is not about you ,i am sorry,i am sorry,wh a where are you who imagines such things, here one moment there the next (climbing a hill one moment(the world feeling like goggles and panting)the the next a moonlit my-god-you-are-beautiful-forty-degree-weather(i must bebuilding mycold resistance) the kick of gravel and then squish of mudgrass ) when it stars to rain in an otherwise dream rider ,who finds those secret glens,thesedays every secret glen has a candy bar wrapper hidden under some rock or other people's names carved daring ly into trees,nowjust huge scars crosses and '1987', where?are you rider because i am tired (of searching) writing ,thewick growsshort but the feeling in my breast is explosive and sharp (let me just slip this note in here .i will find another spot for this other about the pavement, about the war) you moonlit so short ago,clearhead and bumblehead (beehivehair) that you actually knew someone to keep,andthe honey so sweet off eir cheeks (the little things you don't realize will be golden) it is just me asking the question (a cruel world for small things) in all these things i see spirits but i get so clouded(and it gets complex(just jump) some times,rider of an address at the top of the letterhead, mister(ess)so-and-so, dear ly beloved,haspassed etcetera, mark-on-the-world et ce te ra ,iremember more fondly nervous deer i met on a misty road one moonlit night than this surelymissed grandfather-of all where are you,boatof asphault your big stone fingers don't play off mine like--- a thousand no a million fly over the road over the hill chirrupcacophony over the silent cars (not-a-honk) with eir lights just flicking on now in the evening, in the light moon on the blue becoming the god we know at night (the god white lumen) the birds not landing on any cactus i can see and i am the only one who remembers this moment. i am writing to ask if you have gone to the dam and stood there on the edge have you felt the roar grow as you approach ,thetouch of mist the white churn noise. it is god that pours out through that sluice ,trappedat night by the ripples in the cool surface ,byrefraction , by the heat layer(lamina) the god who is between us when we touch like cellophane (cling) who watches us in our windows at night when we think noone is looking when we are naked and dreaming where are you whisper the trees,fingersof wind clack clack and a mourning dove andanother tail feather up to the branch .i wave a stick at them and they are off, the bird feeder is the goal hit the ball. this letter is about you ,i am sorry i am forgetting ,i w n'--- sailing at night the road inmist - inbiting wind - past deer (the very same) a boat ,theold concrete kind they used to make when metal was in short supply, i find off the coast of route 206 where in high school i laid in the woods a worn letter,blottedwith rain ,addressed to the sun,warm golden suninthesky where are you once i stood on the edge of a cliff with a girl and held her(inwinter) and did not kiss her,thoughi should have (though i shouldn'thave ,snowcrunch under foot)where are you summer nights i miss you (whe ar y ) this winter has worn thin and i won't mind the bugs this year! i just want to ride and swim and run around barefoot and shirtless for years and years under the moon,sweet moon,oh baby,i've got lost looking into you r deep eyes. just lock on and don't let go. remember, on the porch? raincomplex.sincerement
where are you?
- interocular distance
- sunset rainwater turns her sidewalk chalk-art into a sherbert delight; a surprise gift from chaos that tumbles her like tinkling bells onto the wet grass
- isbi iot
- only by consuming pieces of one another can beings such as we exist
all writing, chronological
next: It will only make our insides burn until we are nothing but ash.