Streams of Bloggishness (Tin Foil Hats on the Rio Grande)
Birthless is time when I am God
Breastfeeding making love
the cellular connection
of two bodies completing
a circle of notes so harmonious
the air rushes in, up her sleeves
they billow and she is bathed in wind, the wind
God I love a girl in a skirt and nylons
and CFM shoes who smiles at me
and makes me feel good to be a man, a man
I've been trying to do what I think other people
think I should be doing for so long
that I no longer know what I want.
It felt good when she
was giving me
the blowjob in the room
I liked her arms there
because they were nice and tan
But I kept thinking about the tiles
on the floor
and different word combinations
Even old ladies in wheelchairs
blow the family fortune at roulette.
The pictures. Were like Kandinsky
but even Kandinsky could not have
paynted Colonial Man and a naked
Raggedy Ann wearin’ their tin foil hats
on the Rio Grande as they eat
their existential eggs and bacon.
Grandfather comes to her in a dream
And whispers the words of a child:
Little birdie come inside
Gently hold your hand
New light is what I want
New colors too:
Coffee browns and harvest gold
Thunder blue and lunar bone.
I think it’s time to start eatin' dirt.
When you are in love,
you follow someone around,
you gnash your teeth,
you stay up all night
outside their window,
you throw yourself under a train.
If they decide they love you back
you reject them
and attempt suicide
with a borrowed pistol
and become a ghost
and haunt people under bridges
The locals slow as they cruise
by a madman dancing
in the limbs of the trees—
laughing behind the steering wheel,
I felt sure the universe has a sense of humor
My life is a fuckin’ sitcom
You push it away.
It comes back.
There is no relief, really.
We will help you from the sky
And give you a hug when you cry.
And I keep dreamin’ of Bloody Sam
And Slim Pickens, too
Who dies so well to Alias’ tune
And the comin’ sundown on the West
Where Stan and Sam laughed and wept.
King George says:
We have nothing to fear but ourselves.
Wherever there is a coherent signal,
those jerks have instrumentation
Peace does not need justification.
War does.
Every day we slaughter our finest impulses
and perpetuate a jargon-laden tyranny
of projected perception.
May Paynter’s tin foil hats protect us.
Get 'em at the Cafe Press.
I think of her dying, alone, in her small apartment,
With only her cat to witness
The second most crucial moment of her life
I love my brother because he talks about the weather.
Those left to beat their wings on the still air
resort to words as empty as the sky
Perhaps we simply never know each other—
Make sure to hold your
mommy's hand
Be gentle to your
mother
Rock-a-bye.
Rock-a-bye.
Energy bounds—all beings together
Will oums oums go on forever
At the strike of midnight the stars shall fall
Down will come illumination
And all the walls.
This is not the first time that her deceased grandfather has come to her with warnings.
She said to me, "you're not telling me anything that my grandfather hasn't already told me".
I stand on the sand, and I'm rocking grief to sleep in my arms
Where all are kings
all poets, all musicians;
and try to open up and discover what is already there--
And give birth.
"L-I-G-R-O-I-N-E-S!!!" I exclaim
as the sun goes down
on my tin foil hat
on the Rio Grande.
Words by David Lyttle, Kelly, Jeneane and Jenna Sessum, The Kid , Miel,Camillia,Frank Paynter, Elaine of Kalilily,
George Partington, Zarathustra,Loren Webster, Paul Kim, Euan Semple,Leah Raeder, Mike Golby,Barbara Bales,Henry Miller via Whiskey River, George W. Bush, and a few by me
posted by rays | 4:29 PM
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