7/06 Tracing history in bits, after a brief hospitalization. |
Before fathers failed or mothers made milk lines upon lines grown once valiantly soiled simply became spoiled under age and sun, works-in-progress shattered by stunted apologies or ruined by demons and scientifically proven methodology and mythology. Out of a stark cold winter borne what was to become the ribmeat of the family with bright sea eyes turned to fleeting waves and the largest heart, unfocused and prone on a tree from which roots twisted and pulled in disease and spirit, a water and a wine, paradox upon paradox pushing sin and salvation between stone and skull -gemini love and hate; schizophrenic voices of good and evil up into limb by limb and fanning out over the course of a body, the veins of the calendar for a lifetime. Built to withstand the courage of the oceans, the tenacity of the wind or the will of the ill-begotten; the bark is the symbol of a worn down bite. I am the leaf on the tree as colors change me over a September colder to remember but too drunk to forget why I'm here. Shifting but never rattled by oncoming trains, plane crashes, delerium tremors, gales or hailstorms. I may struggle but never crumble; my besmirched reputation wants to prove me clean of the instincts gearing toward shadiness or haziness. If not for my ties you'd see persistence instead of laziness. It's when I separate from the detatchments in life do I most often feel more together-put. Not a sidebar or organ essential to something else or dependent on something for survival. This is functioning knowing where the pain sits and what causes the hurt, but still searching after all I know from what life's shown me, for the reasons it's supposed to have been like this for me. |