Chess Pieces (1st movement: archways)
and now- the short twilight opens and with your clarity arms comes recollections of long-eyed lifetime movies re-run in city dreamscape (watches, i, with mind's eye) remembers always one step ahead the scattered tale of coming mush-brained meth-heads unrattled by the tall swatch beasts a decade of depravity ahead of them the closing of doors in the soul that follows after: the secrets of nimh unwind and begins in early day the stalking up stairs of madmen the war waged only in private homes and inside, invisible is me knowing already how the first man crouches between the mattresses and ends up in oakwood court telling stories... but this end is rewritten like the muddled crusts of wonderland and waking comes only when it's clear how easily all of life can be rewritten, reexplored and for a moment: there's hope that some mistakes can be undone that certain words can be taken back but back to sunsets and sunrises in certain order, unchanging, where the strange bearded czech chooses e4 e5 which i chase with a resounding Nf3 and so comes the real exchanges where every word said matters and every move made is either action towards inaction or inaction towards annihilation the restlessness of greenwich mean time and all of the tied-down scenarios that ride with it wherever it goes like us- these odd monsters only half formed and fuzzy-eyed ending wars with hitler's skies it's hard to chase days down so certainly dreams which often fade come close only in whispers, but this the early life wages on with the help of your clarity arms and see-through stares "we are only beggining," you say but beggining what? and with whom: what kind of harsh dark model are you building? where are the airy angels of youth in your terrible visions? where are your casted light saints carved into the wall with the long knife of your sight? i am coming closer to explaining you. i am coming closer to understanding you. with all your wily ways and wired forecasts melted into melodies and harvested in the morning by the aftermath of brian wilson and left on the shore for all of us to fall in love with... you are coming clear. and so, with trembling fingers i punch out a few lines trying to track down the origin of the soul the origin of your soul where do begginings start? and so, with eager eyes i slide across a few stanzas trying to march out the answers and maybe we'll all see where does seeing reach the sightline? and so, with arched brow i pin down a few memories and dreams, etching away at the day how much of the day belongs to any of us? but birth changes everything: your early archway stares and glory rides through sand storms of the mind what memories have i left out to rot? where begins your first movement into archways anchored by the past- suicide histories and kinsey reports matches made in heaven and magic wands one two much snorted sometimes surely too much smoked and oversavored sensations... this is the coming of earths into view as seen by the light of candles you lit first, with glasses you first fogged up and wiped free with your shirt-tip: the stories you told me. cars hissing by in the morning rain slipping in the mud by the express ramp dancing naked on soundstages with flittery new girls and boys chasing dragons you designed through tech-worlds and mech-worlds made of sunlight and ash silicon cities (you made them shine) your glances gave meaning to guns. but the entire inside unfolds: your coming in six movements and certainly able-bodied to make a victim of yourself these dreams i have so much resemble you so often so certainly so suddenly that these pages follow you now a shroud prayer, a benediction, a eulogy.
2006-08-16 | 2:26 p.m.
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