Dwindling of Thought

by practicalspactical

Turning twenty six, half way to fifty, my strength leaves me, my heart fails me, everywhere and when I go, I see glassy eye people, their now-visible-to-my-mad-eyes genii digging graves and grinning. Their charges aren’t grinning, they’re frowning or crying, searching around, dreamwalking, dreaming of driving, searching for brakepads, an escape route, on the count of three, jump, tuck and roll, disappear into the hedgegrass along the railroad tracks;

Away we go into the brush, in an alternate worldline I am laying on a couch in Greensboro | there are other alternates | in this world I am in love | but my heart is heavy from work and not-so-early rising | trains and autotrains and at the end of the day I am tired but even then I refrain from sleeping —

walking around in lalaland, white ipod, give me your ipod or your life, says Horatio, says Mercutio, twirling, dancing, thought makes cowards of us all, true story, stinking rotting Philadelphia eating its own, break off into the ocean and drown I say, no dinner, no happiness, no nothing for me — Max, You Wild Thing, Dance Till the Cows Come Home — cliches are dead words, twice dead, even as we speak we suck the life from our words like vampires, always hearsay, all ways second-hand salvation army what is truth, asks Pilate, two plus two is sometimes five, says the Great Enemy Absolute Moral Relativist —– Love your neighbor’s wife, says Buck Muck Finnegan, take a mulligan Joyce, Lady Joyce, Lily, dancing, love your daughter, flauntleroy, wordgirds break down, the understructure is shaking, the white noise is rising, there are signals in the architecture, two shots, two guns, dead dead on a street in southwest Philly, who will sing for the Slain, who will sing for the Slayers —

Homer you blind bearded barbarian, sing to me of the Spear-Throwing Achaens, and of the long-suffering Penelope waiting still in Ithaca — Christ remains on the Cross, time is an illusion, oh but it is an illusion with teeth, no illusion, the absolute trueness, absolute reality, the lion in the room, dark, hot breath wet against your face —

Scream it, scream the fear, the fear is always with me, always with me, always with me

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