THE MYSTERY
OF MY STORY
I threw the evanescent angel overboard; I whitewashed
the gravelly house with boarded-over paint. Before I ever
died I swore I'd know every leak and fissure of the
universal light leaking through. In my defense, I did try
everything, though all to no avail. Here I still sat, ass
on the stone, head to the Heavens, seeking something
for which I do not even yet know the words to ask.
-
Anything not left behind I carried down the gangplank
with me : books and lotions, armchairs and clothes.
I came in with nothing at all, and that's precisely
how I wished to leave. Two shoes, both good, in place.
A nice warm jacket in case things got chilly, a snifter
of some sort for cocktails and drinks, and - of course
-
all the requisite tools of this journey-man's trade;
essentially words to be used, not needing to be
made.
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