Thursday, May 9, 2013

palladium

do you have a roadmap layed out already? do you remember the difference between lay and lie? when to lay, when to lie, when you've lain, lied or laid?

so hard to push everyone out of the room, hold both doors shut with two hands, full weight leaning into the wood, head hanging between parallel arms.

still very lovable. a tree that grows from one room to another, overflow, a crowded foyer leading to a small cafe that only serves st. germaine in various forms - and the lights are always off. for the effect of eating after hours, being somewhere you ought not be, invisible, anonymous.

push them out and lean hard into the door, remembering a song with one lyric throughout the entire four and half minutes: ease iron. you'll keep them out. you and whose army?

the banjo breaks into a crescendo -- heels click on the sidewalk, kerchiefs fly up like puffs of rainbow smoke, throw it all off, leave your rings at the door, my darling.

distracting eyes across the table...it's not enough to be bright. you have to do what you are, you have to display all of the ingredients in your spice cabinet. if it doesn't make sense, you're doing it right. one glance behind, one half smile at the way it was, get out here! you owe us all that you are, an explanation, you can't hide forever.

my dear, my only one, watch me sleep these demands away in a little desert cradle. you were the taker, i was the maker, we met and down came the rain. but you can do what you want. and i can change my dress.


ohhh. man.

buskers on the loose. shoeless, sun setting, golden raisins in the park.

you are what you do. if you want, you can walk the prada belt of the earth counterclockwise, run up the down staircase, malinger on train tracks, shove encyclopedic spines out of place, snap delicate glassware, or watch trees photosynthesize. image and destination versus truth and journey.

harmonize, feel how sound moving through your body can open your heart. how horizontal stripes can make you wider. how pressing pedals on a bike can make your sleeves flap.

i used to think that something great was always around the corner, that some day my life could start when i got these other things out of the way, then i realized these things were my life.

lighting little candles under baskets, desiccants, yucca, purple-veined flora choked, papyrus. no basket shall be spared, each one alights and soon, the whole state is on fire. up in flames, poof goes the ranch. charred doorways where prison bars used to cast piano key shadows. blood still cut off, oxygen rich and lucid, kept there until the curls straightened out and order was once again restored.

 

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