On 7000 nights and fife drummers and marching, every day I find small moments to believe I am in step with some divinity; as if I was
The people they go home and the lights go out and the sun's still out now, in summer heat sending skies like Rothko all shimmering shaking and warbly drunk legged sunsets in reds and tans and ashtray pavement landscapes somewhere the pipe organs playing, the snare taps its ragged marching pattern, my shoes.
Birds leave trails behind them- feathers, or shit or whatever glorious streams they choose my car is covered in it and the birds all gone something about it has got to be gorgeous don't you think? The streetlights pop on and seagulls silhouetted against the haze.
My life has been a lesson in subtraction losing as much of myself as I can, and there I come through- I am the pillow of grass growing through; the fenced off fields the trees in a clearing, I am the rubber tires popped on sides of highways, the scent of grape soda and gasoline, hybrid dreams of rum and coca cola; all mirrors telling some story of disappearance, every shining combination of this and that reflecting back a less foreign identity than any passport
Oh, but come on, shake it loose! I am nothing- eyes upon your wrists in checkout lines the one who gives minnows an audience, the shallow pools of pleasant aesthetics as if God was some selective fascist look out, torture, look out, hopelessness, you will be seen and converted into the documentation of human vessels I should absorb you and spit you out as something beautiful; as something human and inherently good in your own inherent weaknesses, but oh, to give glory to weakness? When we are all triumphs!?!
And war and suffering in even the most extraordinary landscapes; you are not deemed truly human, and denial, you are deemed so! So much less for action and so much more for watching like shaken puppies; we will jump in puddles and we will rejoice that we have forgotten all that humans have done against us, against ourselves, imprisoning trees, burying the grass alive, the mass slaughter. We have rain on windows, we have when the beach rolls up on our disgusting feet rocks or bottle caps between toes here is your moment to carry from beaches to urban sprawl forests to economics as you watch the world news read your activist newsletters we can just go on forward with this better world, we can move on without guilt for loving the space of life it is what we are struggling to achieve for 7000 nights and fife drummers, marching, every day I find some small moment where I am in step with some divinity and just to say hurray! I am here! And to fight without ceasing for every humans right to speak out not with protest but with busting out with "hurray, hurray, hurray- let's have a kite flying over us, let's sing and let's run with the kite to get it wind to lift and to soar with the kite and carefully monitor the string coming loose from the spool!" and carefully monitor the string and carefully, carefully, beware of any unraveling threads
-e.
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