by Darryl Price
The understanding we made was neatly wrapped up in its own
blue tissue cocoon like a neatly rolled point and dumped
unceremoniously into the forgotten past like a plate of leftover
digital lies. The lid was shut. Time passes tightly. And you
find yourself a prisoner inside your newly broken body, walking
along inside a lonely road's ditches like a lost animal again and again. There are the same soft houses.
There are those beckoning lights you remember calling you home. But you have only the
billion stars and they burn off by day and you
walk in the shadow of the sun to cool off. You glint. You
blink. You flash. It's a field of eternal longing sacattered before you. Why
do you have to know so much about always being always left
alone? Nothing's ever going to save us from the arc of being.
We are beautiful in our doomed rooms, but it doesn't
really matter. They will dance without our names on their
swaying chanting lips. They'll destroy the hidden garden's rough
beauty in the name of the great goddess of fear, like always.
Oh if there is a greater love it has no
friendship for the living. You'll find no pity in its
deepened and blackly drilled out eyes. But you'll hear the faraway laughter of
its lovely parade, like a quiet bright rain that beckons
and doesn't soak but relieves every imagined wound with a
freshly laundered air. So breathe it in deeply while you
still can, hug another human being. I don't mean to
be that snide, but the time is coming when you
will sink and swirl in so many bitter tears that
you will never touch sweet earth again so innocently. They
are not sorry that you hurt. They only want to
feel their own brand at all times. It's not like they said
it would be at the beginning. We can only write it
down without lying to our own dancing lives and leave it alone, but still there're so many jerks
to fight off in the bathrooms. They only want everything. Nothing else will
do. That is our war. That is why the sad
faces turn away and weep along with willows. They are ringing like
living bells. Perhaps on that strung hope we can feel
something deeper than the hum of our machines being consumed
by other machines. I only wanted to hold you. That
is not a sin no matter what they say in church. It
is a fabulous miracle of sorts. It is a guitar solo done with some
real flare. It's the more we've always heard them talking about. It is always the plan.
I've got to get going now. Remember me. Dream the life.Dream it well for all of us.
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These little messages of mine are really all I can muster out of this life for now. I wish they were capable of more beauty than truth, but the candle of myself has been burned in a way I never quite imagined. I seem to flicker and sputter a lot of the time. More so than I would like.Still I am there for you. I realize the joy of your presence in this world. I celebrate you with the words I have been left.