Thursday, March 3, 2016


Take the past and chuck it. Not your withstanding
load any more. When you bend to erase that chunk
of time you've lived, be sure not to miss the mark :
damask curtains and inkwells, candlelight and an
unmarked void wherein the horses can plummet.
Falling, falling, falling, once more we are lost.
Here are the five things I've noticed: the world is
dank and dreary, but under each rock is a tunnel
of love; there are no more turns at the last roundup;
nothing ever goes the way it is not planned; my last
miracle of the home-based midden-watchers was
to see a baby born; I am nothing without all these
words and concepts. Oh then, all right, let me throw
in one other : I will not, my jet will not, fly, until that
day that Atlanta joins Dallas in accepting joint flight - 
flights where the hearts may soar, and the wings may 
fly, and the eyes, the eyes, the secret eyes, can 
watch each brand new Heaven develop.

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