here where the legacy of my life is being put to the test of page there are a string of stories for which none have traveled the duration of tale
words that have been repeating in random orders in circles ad infinitum dreaming of the page are seeing the light of day although all that was even asked was the shine of a moon
words that have been set in stone lifting from out the calcite trails and asking for once last chance at rearrange glow from the fires that held court over the boulders holding feet from falling toward the sea of a sky above
words that are bubbling under all rushing toward the mouth a few who are wise enough to detour through fingertips only final traces of those who do not wish to meet the remains of the day stay inside...
that we have made it this far seems extraordinary still wiling away without chance at explanation with beginning middle end no support
thus we have, finally, passed the point of continuation up next the battle to remain in motion rather than gliding into momentum (without even the slightest belief in inertia)
when we leave here pack up our new tech bag and saunter off into a darkening sunset with a great big grin, the crowning achievement of our smoke signal escapade will be the onslaught of encroaching fools
all that is left will be yours
forget all that was spoken from these lips before time turned into clocks sunrises turned into memories and sunsets drove us inside for fear of the mysteries bent to hover 'round the next corner and have taken all of the places that were right down the wrought iron walkway of our alleys
all that is taken was ours
do not tuck away crying words of masters incessantly repeating the words of those who have come before with the embarrassing revelation that all you have learned is that “those who fail to learn...” blah blah blah
do not ask where i will go the hills or the plains detroit or buffalo for you already know (although if you do not remember look down inside and realize only you can draw the map that leads to me) and in being wrong so many times there is nothing but leaving with which to make amends
so when the day arrives and the calendar reads "realize" this self imposed exile (all a ploy to escape the chains deconstructed all around our bodies) will end and it will be time for you, too, to leave resolving only within the walls of the theatre which one might daringly rhythmically increasingly call home
We will be Well on in years When what you remember Is this little day Some families ago Where there was mention Of a place to return Someday around now
Having said this In a slightened breath Please carry on As if nothing Ever or forever Will be
in the spiral of the coming dawn we will not be afraid
come storm nor heaven nor pleated death we will walk tall into the fires that have been set as traps and lead our foes to to the dance that celebrates a false victory
but within the line that decides what is the written word of the ruling class and the forgotten realms of the murdered and mass-buried is a borderland along which we need not tip-toe but sing and dance toward a grave that is neither decay nor catastrophe but a well-planned ending to the theatre of the morning that we have lassoed into our own devices
there where we will walk through the trap door providing an effect that seems impossible for the stage then we will leave the audience to give a standing ovation to an empty curtain fall
and as the roar refuses to die and the consternation drifts into the lobby (that the faces of the players remained in work and refused to set free the captives to return to their lands of play) and the voices call "we who were willingly locked beneath the darkness only with the understanding that release was a given" (painted by the brush of all the entertainments from nights before) while we, shedding costumes to become the invisible other who rehearsed no lines but the lives we lead who will not look back nor over our shoulders without thought disbelief or care
for shame and for shadow where the tree topped city lies without revelatory nature or involuntary nurture
to you who has been asking the questions to the answers this lone wanderer remembers
let us climb to the heights so that we may waste away in the presence of beauty
thus to succumb to the overwhelming -
{ disappear as the skell to the skerry impart what remains into an object of desire that turns in to a palace of demise }
would be too simple
to be devoured by the course of events at our feet relinquish the one identifiable mark that separates us from the lineage of the tellurian this must not be our fate
how then to daily revitalize the source of our standing? to breathe deep yet muffled air to sigh fully until the lungs are forlorn to gasp without sign of discomfort or fear
and who has been asking the questions to the answers this lone wanderer remembers
these trivialities built upon tradition and partial surrealities written in books so that they withstand partialities and passed down long enough to become ceremonial formalities are not that which clears the mind nor sets free the self-lacerating methods of a modern mystic's flailing life
no, we need something that will cordon us off feed us from dusk til dawn as we are cornered into fasting from dawn to dusk celebrate the essence without risking the transience that pervades from the wanderlust of us all and has blessed us like clockwork as we have marched our way through thirty years of dying
flags gather in the breeze of butterflies wings torn off like a child's final dreams here, at the end of art this life of death calls
there is no need for justification within the endeavors of these few who venture out this evening darting through the doorways dodging snow or crowds or armies only they may see
these hooded figures pervade in tandem with the night as last pairs of creatures heading toward an unfurled destiny to save a species from some tired method of self destruction
these who are willing to forego this communal stance on all matters extroverted wrapped in a simple coat through to jointed knees crowned in a felt that will transform into gold when the nights shift northerly someday hold their camaraderie close to the vest
entwined and much maligned do the solitary vie for some look of longing that holds the same desperation of those who do not have the freedom to enter the foyer for freedom is but the foyer and liberation insists that the door must be opened, unlatched, unscreened and left behind
please then give us this day the moon cast her shadow full so those of us who sit within walls shrouded by the contrast of light and darkness might find our way from shallow ends
thus life a glass of what-have-you to beginnings bountiful and blessed from inception to fruition encompassing the complexities of walks that wander with purpose finding places of rest marked not by signs, tail-lights or parking brakes where cessation of movement is not considered an option and destruction and death do not sit with their fingers intertwined in the fortress of a childhood game
for anyone left alone long enough will begin to believe in an icon as transient as ours
here one can hear the trains go by in the middle of all hours of the night when we have shaken off the slumbers that do not suit for dreaming is not our key
instead these streets will be tread down by the heels of the boots that we wear in search of that which we tried to forget ad infinitum although we claimed to seek memory
there is no place to avoid that which we know the voice, that is our own, that speaks reminds us that there is a journey set forth in our soles and no hiding in marriages, jobs, friendships, will relieve us of this task
somehow, though, in this stretch of time that seems disjointed and convoluted, amiss and unresolved, barren and cold the few remaining who hear only their own voices chatter quietly in the winter of the soul of the world
let us come together then and find our way from here leave a testament or three so that others may be inspired (though hopefully not tricked into believing that by following toe by tow in line with our faces they, too might reach liberation before they are even free)
in this resolve, these days of petulance are numbered and the turning of the face back toward the east is nigh yet there is no satisfaction in watching the winds sweep through simply the knowledge of the fact of what is to be
there are those with art in their blood others with blood in their art for so few us comes the revelation that without both coursing through the veins life cannot continue
there are those who wish to whisper sweetly and we lend an ear willingly tossed readily into the tease of the lips which brush flesh in a manner unable to be proven as accidentally or otherwise
although i do not hold to be caught up in the meaning of the action that the contact surely occurred is pointed enough telling to whisper back breaths upon throats and lungs and walls that the words provide in the beginning
and while it is not so certain that with resolve a thimble of soup could not feed this army what is really meant is that the anxiety of the unsure nature (whether to do or not to do) has taken from the children any chance to be
in an age of loneliness someone is always willing to take you in for all of the modern age are wanderers and with some training of the eyes an angel of good company
in the homes of hibernation that are believed to be the sleep of the season are nothing but holes and the sleep of eternity and reason
(they asked the suicidal boy which apartment he wished to rent. His response? "Not 2B.")
what buries me is not the snow - the window sees through and true to my safety as a fence that holds the cold at bay
with a lantern and a blanket and a glimpse of rest with the painting of first snowfalls ten years and counting gone by
tonight through clouds the spectre of seafarers whose feet are weighted by their won hands sail with the spirits whose desires to dance did not pass with their demise
if only we could learn to let go release the memories clutched in both hands this heaviness (that it takes only moments to sink out of reach of the sun) would not claim us so speedily away and allow our chance meeting with life eternal to flee
