existing
is all we know how.
sworn to the fingers racing on our wall
might as well adorn mine
with a golden cuff.
loaded in the rear
of that grey volkswagen
is all we remember
/
i am embryonic
warmed by blankets — leaves, the first coat
carried across the rain
exhaust fumes.
/
existing —
i was born for it.
yellow lights — fireflies, neon pipes
gleaming wire fence, 80 watts.
and to put an end there
80 watts to infinite, the stars above our gutter.
/
crawling
like bullets, mitosis
i become his ivory notes
rocked against an aging tide.
/
from beneath my skin
magma rises and breaks silence
or does it but stretch it?
in fire's wake, vegetation —
rich, ebon soil
gem veins underneath
still, i am embryonic.
/
but i digress.
i am his notes
i drift apart to see a lighthouse
i hope the watcher enjoys my sound.
/
the volkswagen — i remember it only in sketch
it reeked of curiosity.
chasing our headlights down a yellowish gray
the driver's gaze on the tunnel's end
every day.
i've tried the wheel but i fell asleep
is he never tired?
i know the answer — or course, i have seen
him pieced back together, after, after,
he is my father, after all.
/
but don't you ever wonder, worthless son
what you look like from the outside in?
the gutter from the stars
the rain over the tunnel
the flame in your lighthouse
/
return home from your quest, seed.
the black box is a universe
a veil of stars
obscuring our mother with her scythe
from our headlights
and they'd whisper and chant
drop a floral wreath by my merry bonfire
like an act of sorts, a cult-feast with tears
like damn it, i just want to see
the stars, her eyes on mine
i have wondered often what color they are —
like whether i get that present
i fall asleep dreaming of
for a whole year
/
call it death,
the soft long night
to look to
as i did birthdays.