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[sid] => 74810
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Darvocet Dilemma
[time] => 2004-12-07 18:44:30
[hometext] => I wrote this a little over a year ago. My lung collapsed(3 days before my b-day ) and when I got out of the hospital i was on darvocet, so it might be a bit jumbled at times. Hope you like it. always, abraham.
[bodytext] => It is in the tiny spaces, back alleys and shadows, and small secret places that we find the mightiest stones; yet small courage to the many fears that run rampant in this world. Seeing, walking along cobblestone and granite, beautiful buildings succumbed to the lifeless, dull paint of existence. A chill wind blows; a sentry rests his bones in the sound of a tattered flag beating against the sky. A radio; television stars are running naked on a beach. Their skin softens and becomes light. The boy never really gets the girl. The girl gets the boy, the boy forgets. Why should any of this make sense? What damned difference does it make if I stand straight, yet fail to remove my hat? The mass, feigning ignorance, will not follow. Perhaps the parable is too complex. In order to justify their lack of obligation, the stars held their breath. Today they are only shells to a great sea that houses many shells. Their dying justified nothing. Of bone and blood; of sinew, tissue, and nerve; of iron, water, and salt, of cardiovascular dilemma, or ***** up lungs, gasping to break through. The eyes are focal points to the soul; a retina, a cataract of color. The eyes read the words, but do they comprehend? The brain: a massive lump of breakfast cereal assortments and a multitude of colored television telecasts rocketing through as we sleep. Call it the mind, call it mine, call it proverbial vulgarity. The latter is most fitting. Indeed the mind is vulgar in its rough forms of comprehension, or its casual advancement to the unperceived; unrelated: a new form of prose blooming in my brain, right behind my eyeballs- Suddenly gone again: a brand new sky, silk sky, vibrant, white translucent, crying in my sleep; and a face, rugged, worn, a brown beard, a broken nose, a thin unaligned spine. Long hair on colorless eyes- colorless eyes! How softly dyed those etheral fires wondered by my sleep! And in wonder, a mirror closely examined, finds reflection absurd and sterling( the eyes of Israel, young eyes) blinking to a close. And then the war begins. There are a thousand furies. Day and night forget the sky. The sun bleeds from the earth and becomes one. There are great blades held aloof, distancing hilts of unseen foes. In my right hand I have a sword. I am unaware of the left hand; it fears the fell soldiers that catch the frenzy of my sight. There is turbulence, a great rumbling upon the earth. Yet the sea is still and will not reflect the stars! I search the horizon. My eyes are led into a valley, vast and darkening. And I have no fear... Then the desert comes, and it reigns a thousand years, and the night is returned and floods in fire and sand. The dream ends. All dreams end. But of fire and sands, the first night of man as he awoke; the first sight, some unborn heaven and perfect hands. The phone rings. It is endless. A myriad of cell phones; oh luscious, unperturbed voice, cry out! Cry death, or dying in the glass confinement of the last working phone booth in the city; cry existance; more than facelessness! Cry identity, as if who you are might save you. Cry no more. Dry your eyes. Let your tears eat out your heart. Let you voice stagnate, grow foul; putrid fetus above lungs, in throat, seeping mucus, because of fear, fear of your own voice. So the silence sleeps, and all the voices speak, and all hear the others and laugh and all the cries that, in the world, are cried, drown out; and all the sleepy, silent lights blink back to existance. And the phone never stops ringing. Lower your eyes. Let the people pass you by. Let their laughter deepen in your skin, penetrate the defenses. Forget your own facade. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Ignorance is a common bond. Knowledge is compact disc players on top level record companies. Knowledge is all your weight in gold. Let your mind fill with fact and it will surely sink. Judge ignorance, judge simplicity, and you will lose the rights of passage to the great gardens of our world. It is in the smaller things. A lover heeds the morning sky, to the west her lovers come. And lost in dawning sun, her hearts first infraction, thus seeking her child to be, far forward, held future name, eyes, laughter child, and discipline lost looking to the sea! A radio: mass imperialism; plastic tits and uranium smiles. No one understands; how sad and dignified the son to his mother borne. What name does name thee child of the whore? What serpentine smile; frigid, uneven smile bestow upon thee, endless roamer, sightless blunder; dirty birth. You vaginal secretion, you labia torn asunde, given eyes, given mouth, given voice to sing. And sing you might, grace a few good tides rise above you. With all of this, the softened lover turned to whore whence bore her son whom dreamed of solitary night and breathed burning sand; saw great war; saw death and fear and ignorance (which will be forever, death and fear.) And the stars are long sallow and fail to see. But alas! To die is to see as the stars see, and brilliant, breathe the sea! Two thousand years past, maybe more, a boy cannot ease his mind, cell phone roaming, never makes it thoug. He calls and calls. A girl waits at the phone, smokes a cigarette, laughs at nothing and weeps. Moving on; The boy forgets the girl; forgets her hair her smell, the profound pressing of her lips. He remembers pain. He lets his guilt eat him. The girl drinks her life away. Human life, over thousands and thousands of years, has significantly altered nothing in its presence, all but ourselves have we sought to better and yet destroyed to do so. It is not greed that we impose over all things, but the need to indulge in experience. We endure in order to justify the means. We are not destructive, only chaste embitterment makes us so. Of love: that which cannot follow into death, yet surpassing death somehow into a void that is not withstanding; but in life, what pleasure can be wrought, what pain(a pain that can almost comfort pleasure.), its aptitude greater, ever greater, given mankinds fervent powers; that of dignity, honor, strengthand courage; albeit man ignores his own injustice. It is common practice to identify love with that of aromatic urges, blossoming bosoms or buds, pretty pink dresses, a cupid and arrows and chocolate hearts. HORSEDUNG! That is to say, love is of a higher dimension – higher than bone and blood; of secretion, salivation: these things are human in their nature; utterly human. It is not in our nature to love. Again; it is not in our nature to love. It is in us to desire. Desire is not love. It is the implication of love. It is the shallow air left behind by some great stampeding force that had, at one time, and perhaps does still, inagurated love into this world. Not a common mortal world, of modern man and his ideal, but a world before mand and a love before love that no voice had need to sing of, nor would, for there was no loss. And this was the wing the angel spread, and this was the laughter and the wind. Oh love, my love, release me! Your kiss; each kiss heated of passion, touches me touches my skin, a resolute dissonace branded under my skin. Release me! Your poison smile, intiguing as it might be, stifles all life in me. A chill wind comes, a burden to the hole in my side seeped deep and puss filled like the stars, raging wild and howling; the stars are beautiful! Darkness is forever, the light of day residing for but twelve hours each side twenty four(alas the day, like night, becomes eternal!) An eye, less taken by the color of or depth thereof that brightens by my sight, as sudden as a cold life, innate, undone life, by deaths resolve on autumn's dreary day; beckons forth such illumination; beyond photosynthesis, beyond chlorophylls, how great and green; finding the the infantile wings within. A blue eyed god lay naked in a pool of his own blood. His white hair pristine seeping into the stars, or like the stars, illuminated, His mouth carries sound (pale lips to kiss upon) as simple as a violin, complex bass and treble. His left hand lay upon his crown, his right hand upon the breast of a coupled lover, lifting their faceless child. The crown embraced; tempered, encrusted; great rubies upon the childs brow! At once the child stood, his fragility encumbered by the great atrocity of man; his feet restrained, crippled leg, collapsing knee, he walked the sea and found the cries of his father and spat upon the bodies of his crown. And at once the king; oh the king of all kings had been found! I today, have found great beauty in that which I have known for many years and never saw. It is not in her eyes or in her smile, gracious, most compelling smile, nor is it in the movement of her hips, or the slightest constancy of her breasts, but it is in her guise, in the soft face beyond the facade of time, in the tired nip of her adoration, an adoration for all things that are small and beautiful spaces in-between. How often have I held her in my thoughts, never realizing the extent of my affection? Of sudden consequence, my heart beats quick; ever quicker, and my thought preserves her.How beautiful she has become to me. Oh joy of passion, joy of pain, how I wish to guide my thoughts to paint her in my sleep. And suddenly, to speak to her! How I will tell her in my dreams! The end. Arise all that have will to stand, sing all that will to sing. Let voices break over the thunders of the night. Let my blood and your blood seep from our throats into the burning sands of time. Let the guns be silenced by our fingers. Let no more children of any class, creed, or color, know the pain of intolerance and anger. Stand up and love one another! It is the only true way. It is the beginning that will not end. Love, above all other. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 152 [topic] => 8 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => AmericanTragedy )
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