Talkin'

Cherry soda pops and bottle tops. Does anyone here, a man among you, truly know what they're here for? 'Cause I sure as hell don't. And if you've found out please let me know. At the end of a day, it's all still a mystery. All, all. Where the daylight ends and the nighttime begins? It's all a mystery. How someone decides what's right for their own life? It's all a mystery. This is our last chance, this is ourselves. This is my last shot. Say goodbye to Madame George. I'm trying to write this poem but I can't. It's all about how the earth has a pull, the soil underneath your feet is a membrane, we forget, but it is. And it's constantly pulling you down, like when you fall through the floor. The other parts of your life, whatever keeps you distinct pulls you up. And you're constantly suspended between these two forces, one pulling your feet down into the ground, pulling your cells apart. And the other one keeps you together, keeps your cellular membranes intact, makes sure you don't turn into soil too soon. There was a time when I felt dead, quite dead, aboveground, that to be buried was only the formality of it all. I got better but I never forget about it. I was walking around in a coffin. But I still feel grateful because if I hadn't had spent all that time learning how to be dead so much of life wouldn't make any kind of sense. When I watch all the cruel dark people do what they do, and I think How could you do something like that, that doesn't make a lick of sense! But it does, if you've spent any time dead you'll know perfectly well what waits behind the wall, and it helps make sense. And then as I've said the stars are outlined and things are clearer. I've fucked it up a bunch of times but I'm lucky to have another chance, mostly because I know what the alternatives are, and they are no alternatives at all. When you fall through the floor. And someday I know I'll be able to take what is given, I have a hard time with that, I think, I just can't believe it when it happens. You made me hallucinate mushrooms and hear music and I will never never never never forget that.

Everyone have secret phrases, never tell anyone. Hidden. When I watch your faces metamorphosize I'm stunned, it's the most amazing thing I know. Your eyes melt and leak down your cheeks. Light comes out your eyes. See it once and you'll never mistake it again. Unmistakeable. How many things can you say that about? What is carrying you through the week? Inertia? I hate that, almost broke down crying in a grocery store this one time. Bought some tea and read about the Beatles, helped me feel better. Good thing that wishing would not so, would not make it so, ere he'd drop with a thought. Spent a long time learning, had to put my own head in order. The external world could wait, and so it did, and now I'm ready to talk to it. Phrases I have never told anyone, written like a Golem on my forehead. Hush, secrets, I hope you'll read my poems, I'm nearly finished which is the hardest part of all-- I think you'll like them, I have 48 of them and one or two lines are worth your time, I'd bet money. Marvelous, you didn't have to be kind but you did, I kiss you all.