 |
| fig.567.87) Outside the snack shack at midday. |
Baby sits like a song, he's singing from the back seat now. Tiny hands sitting in their lap. There's a short bucket of pee by the lottery machine when we pull in just before the sunset. The red shack sits beside the bay bridge near the high water mark. Liked by, even though here we are to be, liked by this sausage and it's many companions too. Worn and neat below the wind of the shore. Shells on the warm dry sand. Shells in the sun waiting to be worn like pearls. Inside it smells like gasoline and peanut butter. It smells like mayonnaise and sex down here.
I'm a part-time bear with a full-time needs and a real axe to grind. I'm just sitting here on the ice waiting for the weather to turn around again. I have this sack full of peanuts and some dried out fish to help move things around. I have a couple of steel cans full of cold beer. The car that I was driving has run out gas, that's how I got into this mess. I'd like to be left alone with my trailer, please! I'd like to get up and walk out of here. But my bear hands feel a little bit rusty and naked.
For real, I'm really anxious and really wet. I'm a jagoff of the highest order and I've come here to be by myself and I'm walking around on the ice like I'm that damned bird again. I've got this very long neck for a bear and from I've hung some string for my leash. My eye's old and full of enough batshit and votes to make my booth top nuts and all over crazy. For now I'm waiting and I'm hungry for tacos but all I can do is make love to myself and to all of the marvelous angels that I think I can hear. I want to dance with them along the silvery edge of that highway across the street. I want to hold my breath until I fall in. I want to sing like the end of every song that's ever been sung. But these walls are stained with the remnants of my feeble rut and all of the hand cast lubricant that I've spent.
Cynicism has followed the scar of my arc. Here it is, like it's a line of staples grabbing up the crazy ends of some carpet laying wet outside on a porch. The dogs look around anxiously, they're mean and then they're blank in turns. They drift in and out of themselves waiting to beg. They're up and then down from the sofa all day long, watching small television and ordering bags of oysters and other takeaway. Soon enough the looming walls will intervene rather than the some something that should instead.
Yes, I'm leaning over a patch of their shadow too, holding onto my weight like I'm about to get oldest first. I'm here and in thoughts, at least I'm still the villain and not just falling apart like some lazy radical. I can admit there have been times when our train's been wrecked to pieces. I'm still feeling it all over, waiting inside a box for something to steal my week from me. But once the door opens, I hurry out into the maze of systems that no one seems to understand. I get really excited and need to sit down, maybe I have to chew on the arm of the couch until this passes me by.
Resting on the head of this pin is a creation of wax and empty shells. I'm leaving it for the ice to do away with.
Comments