"sunday and it's raining"

 

the rebirth is over; sunday
and it's raining, the sky is grey,
the earth is saturated on this,
the thirty-second day of a thirteenth month.
fade, fade dry tears in denial,
the creation that is of the interloper,
built in misconstruals called reality,
is of the current now, a hole
found in an ocean, deep, under
a bed of dead and dying coral-
i am a pair of ragged claws scuttled
at the bottom of a perilous sea.
to wake in windswept epiphany, borne
of exiguous means and delivered to false
gods on a hidden mount, is walking
in defamation down a runway that is ruled
by steel birds, a turbulent affair
that knocks me to the soiled
ground and impresses upon me the power of speed.

they'll come to help when i am bloody,
when i am beaten and in need of rescue,
and their hand will be clean and white
pulling me up from the filth of damnation,
offering music and smiling with a sigh:
yet another man has dared to fail
(sizzled meat on a grill butchered kosher style).
the diagnosis murder will be that a gasket
blew in the brain, sensory overload burst
pipes and flooded sockets; the cure
is over-medication and limited fornication.
i will end up sitting in a café, somewhere
down this road with a friend in christ, spouting
freakish things and praising salvation, praising
the quality of coffee and a bull market, a
bullish line of rank and file monotony, conversing
on the topic of control and self-satisfaction.

instead, i awake in a wilde gutter, staring
at stars and illuminated drops of light rain,
the mud on my face a chevron of life,
a battle scar of yet another wrecked cadillac day.
when i wash up and see my new tattoos
and ask my rooted self whether it was
worth the cowboys boots and paper whirls,
i'll say yes and move on to another dream,
a different version of an altered vision of realtiy;
a hat tipped over my left eye, dancing
the waltz in a busy diner in a red texas desert.

 

30 July 00