unfinished fresno beat poem
"We were all in love with each other then," he said, and I know we were,
something about the hot wind blowing through the night time streets,
and the way we all together watched the slow turning of the nothing town.
until we dropped off one by one, Josiah, overwrought by
the attempt to find the universal music and it's synesthesiac relationships,
fell of naked into a great graveyard of weed chased by assylum keepers,
and elisheva, unable to bear the strain of small town gossip, and
the presence of the lunatic who lived behind us, walking only on his knees,
in rain waders all year, with a duck taped door, and a camera for police -
moved off to a place where all are alike lunatics, dispassionate, impersonal.
Paul, I know, sits there still after brief stirs to become a plumber, a brewer,
a truck driver across all the wild western states, which are eastern to us,
living at the edge as we do - he returns from all this to drink coffee and smoke,
just as we left him.
something about the hot wind blowing through the night time streets,
and the way we all together watched the slow turning of the nothing town.
The old people and the bums alike were our beauties
and we laughed about them as if their daily remarks
were the humor of a lifetime
and we laughed about them as if their daily remarks
were the humor of a lifetime
until we dropped off one by one, Josiah, overwrought by
the attempt to find the universal music and it's synesthesiac relationships,
fell of naked into a great graveyard of weed chased by assylum keepers,
and elisheva, unable to bear the strain of small town gossip, and
the presence of the lunatic who lived behind us, walking only on his knees,
in rain waders all year, with a duck taped door, and a camera for police -
moved off to a place where all are alike lunatics, dispassionate, impersonal.
Paul, I know, sits there still after brief stirs to become a plumber, a brewer,
a truck driver across all the wild western states, which are eastern to us,
living at the edge as we do - he returns from all this to drink coffee and smoke,
just as we left him.
We left all for various reasons, we have gone to become hipsters,
angel headed, and unremarkable, working day jobs in bagel shops,
preschools and yarn stores, running women's info shops for all I know,
parts of some great cog, moving everything towards nothing.
Oh, I know we are reading Hegel, Jung, becoming
Zoroastrians, and Swedenborgians, but somehow still
angel headed, and unremarkable, working day jobs in bagel shops,
preschools and yarn stores, running women's info shops for all I know,
parts of some great cog, moving everything towards nothing.
Oh, I know we are reading Hegel, Jung, becoming
Zoroastrians, and Swedenborgians, but somehow still
posted by angela at 11:01 PM
2 Comments:
I kind of like how it just drops off in the middle of the sentence. I think the poem is unfinished because our stories are unfinished. sunsets still a long way off.
But somehow still the bums beat their horses dead in the concave swirl of night all around us somehow dumbfounded across time and space and place and between the gnashing of teeth in the lonely window silhouette and grace, we realize that that shared time together was something more than we can bare to gather, still attempts are made and one day, on a warm night in September, if not all together on a porch in Fresno soup and pavement scrapes and the story book light from inside animating fast hands and eyes and guitars and smoke and poems and hats, we will all be in our different locations, breathing the airs so far and foreign from Fresno and the breeze will reunite us in feeling, and the stars I see are the same stars you see and the train I hear is the same train you hear, and together we partake of this communion.
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