Nobody's creekbed

songs, prayers, poetry, stories, art, photographs, moving pictures, fondnesses, tall-tales and meditations

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The Anterior Insula and Hwy W

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

everything swimming out of him,
all pots to piss in full,
he was like, "I've got it figured out,"
as he made his way up the stairs
a face pulling a body into our apartment
like a third act reveal you've seen a thousand times,
he said, "I was the one back then
that told you to watch out when
in those first couple scenes everything looked so nice."

how much of this can we believe?
if you listen to the way he tells it
you can not believe but all of it
and who has the time for that?

i was tired back then,
i was puny--
i could barely hold myself together,
let's just say i held nothing and i held it tight,
but when he started talking i started talking
and we tumbled out the face of this thing
headlong and headstrong
we hollered out a many disgraces on the graceful world
and we said, "see I told you so,
see, I'm a special kind of beast,
I've long arms and legs and a place you can't call home."

dug around down in there, the pot,
amongst the piss and the coins and the discarded things,
my fingers clumped and wrinkled sausages--
i had hoped to bring it all home and cook something,
but there was nothing left once i'd had my fill,
and besides if you eat that you're through
and sometimes a face like a baby is scary
if it's bruised and beet-red and out of breath.