I’m through with every goddamn thing not worth continuing.
That’s the end in a way,
But an optimist would say “a beginning”
In spite of the ‘goddamn‘.
Well goddamn man anyway.
That was his plan that didn’t make it.
But both are so short,
The beginning and the end,
They’re so short in time
That I’ve forgone the journey.
The journey on down the crippled old Nile.
That’s a line from a song I wrote.
I’m 1/3 of a plagiarist,
Elvis still has that market cornered
So I can play second, third, fourth, fifth fiddle,
All the way to the end of Stradivarius’ being called fiddles.
But that’s enough about me
I want to tell you about goddamn Sam.
The firefly whose bulb was too bright,
So he stayed a kid…
There wasn’t a man amongst us.
Least of all Sam,
But he seemed like one.
So that was close enough for us.
I broke my leg when I was 5.
It didn’t heal right so I walked funny.
I say walked because before long everyone wanted to walk like me.
Messed up girls.
Rusted scraps that we can’t chew
Because it’s made of metal. And rusted.
In the rain, the acid rain, the rain, the acid rain, the rain.
Our paths became so intertwined,
We beat the same two-trail into the dust.
And it blew away in the wind. All that wasted dust.
I wanted to destroy everything,
So that I might see the salvagers come out.
And watch them scurry(?), no, they aren’t rats.
I wanted to see something built from nothing,
A nothing that was a rupture from everything.
A tight rope made out of bicycle chains.
A GODDAMN CIRCUS?!?!
This is what the salvagers do?
Goddamn them for not being as romantic as I’d hoped.
No one ever is.
Especially not the romantics.
What happened to romanticism?
It’s floating down the Nile you called crippled.
Would Homer have spoke so well if he wasn’t blind?
The answer would put you in tears.
Was Aesop a real man who lived according to the dictates of his fables?
No one is a real man. They never were.
Are we real?
We aren’t real, we think we are, we think that makes us real. But we aren’t real.
I think, therefore I am?
You think that and you aren’t even thinking. Lazy.
But if we aren’t real, what’s the point?
Well, I’m the only one telling you that you aren’t real.
But why isn’t there an answer?
There never has been, the more we know, spelled with a capitol N, the less we kNow.
But you aren’t making any sense.
I’m not made of cents.
There isn’t a tree you want to sit under?
I want to sit under every tree.
You’ll die one day.
Yes I will.