Not long after noon
I smoke at the window
Like a grown up
with my karate pants on
And contemplate the garden.
For a while it has gone neglected.
Now, it is green and wet.
That’s right, Clyde.
I suggest we go outside.
What is this?
+
And this?
This winter. Of
joy and conquer.
This winter.
With short days. And rain.
Parents.
Holidays.
Good news.
And
Cancer.
Bright eyes.
Disappearing days
And
Drunkenness.
Deadlines
And
Dumbness.
Deaf with Death
And dancing.
+
This winter is bright but for the last
Few weeks I’ve spent too many hours
Sharpening pencils in front of the
Computer.
For what?
Rubbing my eyes.
Smelling like a must-cake. As they eat cake.
Rolling smokes.
“Nothing tastes as
Good as skinny feels.”
While
Inhabiting space and coming together
in
bursts of love and tussle.
Then its over, somewhat - As I puff
I do not ask.
This is a good moment.
She sits in the other room.
With no agenda.
It is bright.
Bright like the gross profit of lots of LSD days and nights,
bright.
Like, “walking around the lake and saying,
I never knew that building was ever there”,
bright.
Like, What the shit color is that bright?
Bryan, that color is Green. That’s a boulder.
It is brown. It
came before us. That
building has
always been there.
And now we are listening to music.
This is Earth.
You are my breath. You are
my hope.
We both need space.
This is my lesson.
These are your teeth.
That you cut.
And this here – is a hangover.
Like the one that was Theomedical.
Like the before and what came after
The Flame That I Burnt on The Floor
of My Apartment.
Like then when they said
It was hard.
And I said I knew.
But didn’t.
Like now.
Wet with thought
Looking
At the garden
Seeing things.
Smoking.
With my karate pants on.
Feeling like the man who
Came out of the proverbial cave
To be confronted with
The forms.
(I didn’t know)
She who smiled like Aristotle,
Then took my hand, and
embraced me.
+
(ok, let’s move around some furniture)
