Orange Apples and Lemon Pears
Heaven went and said, when the bottle did short me, that I was mistaken to believe that I was in it already.
H:Whose heaven you in boy?
M:Yours? or ..It's I suppose.
H:Ain't no heaven of mine belonging to you. You may want to check elsewhere. You may want to check the mission up on 23rd.
M:I don't know where that is. I'm not homeless if that's what you mean.
H:Yeah but damned if you ain't soulless.
M:How you figure?
H:You call on me like I was your Daddy and you skin your knee every damn day.
M:I don't think I'm soulless. I think I love just as you and everyone else. I think I may even in fact love harder.
H:Peoples with souls ain't gotta love that hard. They ain't gotta feel pain for all they done wrong. They ain't gotta torture themselves with thoughts of being alone and wrong. Wrong, I ain't never meant for no one to feel wrong.
M:Maybe. But I ain't homeless yet. And I don't need you or your heaven right now.
H:What you askin for then? What you wasting my time for?
M:I guess I'd ask you the same question if I thought it would lead anywhere. But you're just as dead to me as the time tickin by to tell her I love her. Dead and stale to the point you ain't ever gonna need me back.
There she was 3 rows up, 3 years gone, 3 dreams dead and 3 deaths coming. Make me laugh with your nothing. Not her. Not the one anyone is thinking of. She's poor and dead to me. Bye bye bye bye. Not you anymore either. Make the "fuck it" laugh. Make the sound with your mouth that lets me know you're bored when you are riding next to me in the car and I have nothing funny or interesting to say to you. Make the 3 deaths come to life in your bosom as you dance around flames of gold and orange. You dance twilring arms waving my dreams around you like a baton teasing me to be alive, teasing to be undead. You tempt me to be alive, dead, and the sun all at once. You give me hope, pain and burden and I have no idea how to make that sound with my mouth. I can't tilt my head like a woman and get mad like you people do. I can't make that happen, and if I could, I'm pretty sure I'd be just as happy alone as I would be with any woman. If I could only tilt my head like that or if I could just roll my eyes and make my body alive, dead, and shining. I can buy perfumes, and touch soft skin. I can look at pictures and I can listen to music to be close to women. But I can't make that sound with my mouth and I'll never even understand where that head tilt comes from.
This next breath of typing was written for you. It wasn't written for my imagination it was written for you. Like Whitman searched for years to find the perfect rose to fall on a wet black bow I search for you in my empty space.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
That breath of typing was written for you and don't be mistaken by anything small and creeping that may crowd that brain from feeling good. Feel the way you feel when someone thinks about you. Don't get bogged by black midnight and smog smelling dreams of hot apartments, fatty foods, boring lovemaking. Let the words sung to you be what you want them to be. Let them be the cool breeze coming up off the shore of a burgundy evening. Let me be me.
You gotta shake all that bacon. You gotta move all that down your leg and your pants. The thing that you don't get is that all your happiness is right inside your little eye. You can't let it touch you much less beat you. Right now you playing tag with the wrong people. You ain't even playing tag because you ain't even been chosen yet to take up teams. You just a special child running in and out of the game with no team, no rules, and no code from which to draw from. You all alone on the side somewhere having rubber balls thrown at your face. But you need to forget all that and smile when you walk. You need to let the sun sit on your face as if it were a gift from the Lord himself. I think you'll find that simple always wins.
