Starting Fires with Grass Stains
I want instructions on how to disappear completely. If only you could get a little shut eye. If only you could get a little "bad day" medicine or a cool kiss on a forehead from someone you loved. If only you could take a month and walk around smiling. If only you could disappear into the vast light that is the walking of the sun along the world. The horizon is chasing down the dream of dying, living and disappearing. The horizon can chase you on over the grass and through the stream. It can trip you up and make you realize that dreams only last the night and no one cries in their sleep. Your gift of disappearing isn't happening because the dawn chases you down everyday. With hot arms of reality it brings you in close to make you see what you are missing.
Strong life grows near. You can smell strong life in someone. You can feel them. You can taste their looks as if you tasted pies in a window. You know what blueberry tastes like but your mouth is already remembering without tasting. You know what love is but your body is already melting without the caress of a lover. You know what sorrow is but your body can taste the tears running down your face. You can feel strong life the same way you can feel the sun on your face and the tears in your mouth.
He was watching the Royal Tannenbaums and he threw his amethyst rock out the window and onto a car. He was so jealous of lives that weren't real. He wanted to live again. Even in poverty they had uniforms and pets. The real poor, like him and I, stay in bed all day and feel sorry for themselves. They get drunk with cocaine addicts and play cards at all hours of the night. The true bankrupt of the wallet and soul like to feel like they are dying in order to remind themselves that they are still living. The truly sad don't talk on the phone or go in public because they are ashamed. They let themselves slip into a world of foulness. The truest foulness that can never escape a person is coming to my mouth in acid nausea. It is the most wretched thing that is so hard to leave in the dust; the feeling of pity.
You better realize that I kill people. I bet you knew right away that it's all over town that the sun is going down on the days of your easy life. You have no idea where it is. It's all over the street that it's our time to pray. You can feel like a force of nature if you want to. You can whip yourself through drapes and make me realize that the wise man's treasure is buried beneath my feet. I see the cracks frozen on your skin and as the world slowly turns it hits you that the thieves of the night are coming to take you away.
I find myself singing out loud all the time. I'm a skipper of streets. I'm a cartwheel on 5th avenue person. I'm so shy as well. I can curl up and become angry with everyone else. I can become embarrassed by my own life just as you do. I can walk around and wonder what it all means just like the rest of us blind that have on intention of shaping but only buying and crying our lives away. When I feel like that I go get drunk and find a good juke box and remember what it was like to feel alive. I look at everyone. I talk to poles and stairs. I climb up and down my own heart as if it were a ladder in a play. I climb in and out of your heart as if it were my home and you kept locking the door.
