Everything changes
It's not so funny anymore
It's either serious or you're crazy
Or it's forgettable
But certainly one of those
When you think about it
I mean really hard about it
It's easy to lose yourself
Your job, your car, your roof
And in that way
It is either like transcendence
Or magic
Or giving up
With a soft little coil
A spark plug and gutter system
You've got yourself one of the smallest machines that has ever been
Has always been
Has never not been
The proof is in what the pudding becomes
When it either comes in contact with a spoon and a mouth
Or a straw that breathes
Or a television commercial
The farther away I get
The more blood I have right near me
The less I can leave right by you
The more of you that is always where you are
Constantly providing and circulating and changing
One of those or all at once
And I ride the train farther away
And here are some of the things I see:
Other trains, noses that have been boxed and bled, black stockings and
rattle snake boots, rolls of drab fence, blueprints, graffiti on
concrete, yellowed lights, climbing ivy.
And, in my ears is Hebrew that I recognize the sound of, but don't
understand the meaning of. And, that is what this whole experience is
like. Making blood out of spoonfuls of Hebrew and pudding. Without
the blueprints and rattlesnake boots. And, you either get more blood,
a broken nose, black stockings, or a drab fence. But, it's all we ever
were.
--
3/11/09
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