I can’t admit it to you…

December 23, 2008

I cannot admit it to you…

You were there, and I,

though both of us weren’t…

What I mean to say is that we

were not together looking at the

same thing…

It’s freezing outside right now;

I am not in that reality of being

a young puppy sleeping on the damp

ground…

I remember imagining how cattail plumes

might have gotten stuck in your hair had

we played where I really wanted to play,

Though, that want, seemed not just far away,

It was not even there, no time, no time…

Plenty of time, though no timelessness in between

the winding of the watch, the Model T and that

tempestuous temperament we could so conjure

when Echo least expected it,

You could say that it was a distraction for her

(at least), while Narcissus would stare harder

and harder in the water, knowing his stuck-on-admirer

was looking at us briefly,

Though how brief is brief,

when Eternity is flinging us around god’s cafeteria

from having been first playing spoons on our thighs,

to sitting in one waiting for a ride?

It’s just now, tonight, that I am feeling the Rock Bottom

I used to tell people I had hit or the bottom of those rocks

on Rock Bottom, after all, even the end of things has

secret chambers of sweet smelling ammonia who bring

tears of joy and sour smelling cotton candy that delivers

me to my boyhood standstills, places where gray and grey

really do take on a matter-of-fact pliable nature, where,

when I held a baby blue jay in my hand,

it had already swam through all of me prior to landing

and decided to stay put in my palm,

while we, we would get stuck on

the sound in the forest,

that small, compact plop,

that a certain some-spirit curled

round the strings of an eardrum knows

is a living thing-body

and not wet snow in June…

I liked walking next to you on the beach,

I felt found,

I felt safe in your interest,

(Though I really didn’t know your interests

outside my own critiques of them, and,

like any right child or just the elemental Right itself,

would do, those essential interests of yours stayed

put, in your heart-hands, similar to that baby blue jay

I am now holding in crystal clear sculptural form to

my transparently red glowing memory coals…)

It’s ok,

The mind feels

and even feels feelings had as has-now,

I am standing,

not still,

not swaying,

not running in place,

Just here,

because that’s how I found myself

in the first place,

Just here,

not error,

not famous,

not altogether or scattered,

Not even simple or complex,

These are cactus-complexes of the mind,

that awesome prickly and soft-flesh-landing-

place for the owl called ‘Wisdom’

by the (of course) self-interested Mind

referring to itself and not the essence inside

the owl that knows nothing about owls or Earth,

Oh, and then there’s those desert blossoms…

I’ll talk about those later,

I’ve got to get some rest…