I have launched my Saturn
To lasso my stronghold
About the trunk of an old fir
And in my harness
That I have so carefully filtered
I can see tire marks
Destroying the delicacy
So carefully planted before me.
My disrespecting synonyms
Yet from this angle
My six shooter chops each antagonist
Down to their knees
To which I show no mercy
I have no mercy
For the main target
Of the world I’ve come to
Heavily breathe in
Lies stickered to the souls
Of garbage bins discarded.
So, I carefully sign my name
To hand written documents
That address my stronghold’s weakness
And dig my stick
Into footpaths abandoned,
And rip the flagging
From mouth of hungry chains
With Spring snowdrops.
It took me a long time to get over the loneliness I now felt
Each step was an effort of motivation
My heart wanting to turn around and embrace the kindness
But I knew I had to go on
I had kept their names in my pocket book
So I could write them
And they had also given me the address of some friends
That lived East, that I might come across
On my long journey.
The weather was starting to get colder
But still very early in Autumn
So I had quite a while to make it to where I was going
The question of where I was going
Did definitely come across my mind many times
And in conversation with Frank and Amy
I had learned the distances of some of the towns
I would be approaching as I made my way East
You know you’re getting close to a town
As trails become more worn
And paths get wider
Signs of civilization everywhere
From freshly knocked down trees to garbage thrown aside
It was nice to be walking again
When a thin layer of sweat started to heat me
I remembered the little spots easily
That had so been tenderized by my pack and walking
Funny how so quick a body can forget
When it’s not being put to use
None of the pains I had felt working the axe
Inhibited my walking,
Though I instinctively reached for them
From time to time.
I spent most of the day walking at a rapid pace
Trying to get the most out of my peaceful mind
Still with a fresh set of feet and a bushy tail
I barely stopped for lunch
Just quickly finding a soft spot
And eating down the delicious food Amy had sent with me
I held a small piece of dried moose in my hand
As I walked, taking small bites and savoring the flavor
That made the edges of my mouth water uncontrollably
It reminded me of being a kid
And shredding dried jerky to put into our lips
As if we were chewing the real tobacco
A habit I never really did catch on to.
There’s a knot –
Like lost balloons
Or flipped garbage –
With aggressive voices,
A team of it
And I’m not
To acknowledge it.
A valley, like my mind, may look empty on the inside – void of all that makes up matter. Void of all the mass that builds houses and factories and city roads and flower gardens and traffic jams.
For cannot this still matter? I am lost in a wasted land, and the fight challenges my patience along grated edges of wisdom.
Do you hear the sharp bells ringing? Is this the difference that is ringing, or has freedom finally called my name?
The sheath shall sadly fall apart, ragged from too much use like a cocktail napkin at a lipstick party. History shall not scream loudly here. This is not the bitter pages of a non-fiction picture book.
Here we have wrinkled tin garbage cans rolling lifelessly along unkempt lawns of former princes’, former glory holes that believed in a dream. A lifeless dream built on waste management systems and recycling plans.
So I cannot spoil my food anymore. My valley – running deep – is the chance to be faculty and chief. My valley is the early morning breath and the dying chances. My valley is the shortened season and the wilderness.
My valley is me, and I’ve begun to see.
You marvelous beasts
Flappers and fins
With little beeps
Sweeping under foot
Sacred flow of earth
You bitter old souls
Do you know
How you continue
The Ganges river dolphin
Will die because of you
Suffers, the world suffers