Posts Tagged ‘ life ’
Corpuscles of dust (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
reach for it
like your life
depends on it
because
it does
well
maybe not your life
you can live
like a sluggard
and still get by
you can congregate
around screens
like little moths
and let the world
pass away
if dust thou art
i suppose
it doesn’t matter
BUT DAMN IT!
i know
the dust can dance
and dream
and love
and remember
moments
when it was more than dust
Science Project 1974 (Photo credit: The Rocketeer)
is it live?
or are we stumbling through
stonewashed memories
of where we’ve been before?
is it live?
or are we rehashing
yesterday’s unfinished business
that never comes to a conclusion?
is it live?
perhaps a better question
would be
what are we doing here?
we live by rote, routine
and anticipate only what
our lives tell us to anticipate
is it live?
is an illusory question
our experiences are colored
so completely
by where we’ve been
what we’ve worried about
what expect life to be from day to day
so I ask you,
is it live?
Rotisserie chicken that has been peeled, from Costco. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
vindication
profanity
not redeemable
for cash
twist ‘n’ turn on a eucharist rotisserie
feel the lapping flames
blasphemer
cogito ergo sum
give me a smile
and smack me on the ass, coach
look at me, dad
i’m on the team
in the dark places
strange fungi sprout wings of old
and fly among the fly and hip
damn that short term memory loss
been smokin’ like a freight train
drop out
drop in
just don’t pay attention
it’s all just lemming dreams
the woman gave me to eat
and i did eat
yes i did
you got a problem with that?
never never never
underestimate
the Spirit will carry
and carry on
it is not the Spirit’s toil
spirits do not toil
they dance like the lick of the flame
and flicker
as you would have them flicker
never mind the prop-a-ganda
we have physics to distract us
and scrabble
and keno
what’s the real Issue?
never mind
Pizza Pops (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
This is a short ramble for a snowy Tuesday night in March.
The world around me is either speeding up or I am slowing down, I think,
think about the coming Spring, trapped in a receding storyline. It seems that
I’ve been down this road so many times, ya’d think that I’d have learned by now.
Friday, I went to Downertown to take Pops to Goodwill. He was half-lit on a bottle
of Kessler’s when I got there at 2:30 PM, just outside Huckabuck. I had
stopped at Mike’s house and left his ma some wires to strip, but Mike was out
with his old man, cashing his check. Bobs was there at Pops when I got there
and I could tell Pops was in a mood ’cause he was wandering around the shack
looking for shit.
“Should we call Mike?” I ask Pops.
“Nah.”
Pops puts a knife in his belt and looks like he’s ready to go.
“You can’t take a knife into Goodwill,” I say.
“They won’t see it.”
We get in the Minivan of Obsequious Delight and head east toward the Goodwill
Store. I ask Pops for a cigarette. He smokes some off-brand full-flavored 100
menthols that changes from month to month depending on what’s cheapest at
the neighborhood drive-thru. He has a running tab there and pays it every month
when he gets his SSI check.
Pops looks really tight, like he’s in one of his fogs when we get to the store. We
park a distance off and walk into the store. I tell Pops to take his time and see if
there are any clothes he likes as I head off looking for books. Pops heads for the
men’s pants. About five minutes into my shopping, I see Pops shifting around
behind me.
“Didn’t find anything you wanted?” I ask.
“Nah.”
“Why don’t you look through the books and find something?”
“I don’t read books.”
I know that’s a lie but I also know how Pops is when he’s tight. He’s had too many
run-ins with the law and all he wants to do is go back to his shack. I stop by the
men’s clothing for one minute, Pops in tow and grab a couple of items. My shadow
follows me to the register. I’m overloaded but turn down Pops’ offers to hold
something.
Pops is looking at an island of reading glasses when I spot the island of sun glasses.
“Dad, look! Sunglasses.” I know that is one thing Pops will buy and he starts
trying on a couple of pairs.
“$9.99? I’m not paying that!” Pops says when he finds a pair he likes.
“The rack says $1.99, Dad.”
He puts the glasses on the counter. I make some small talk with the clerk, but Pops
isn’t the only one now who wants to get Pops home. We take our spoils and head
back to Huckabuck.
that’s why I’ve recorded a li’l video for you to watch
on your ‘puter and think hard about what yer gonna do
with the rest of your life.
now scoot!
Fret pattern (Photo credit: chrisinplymouth)
the songs we sing while we are here
will be carried in the wind
i won’t fret when i am dust,
i won’t fret when i am wind
the songs we hear will be the songs
that we remember of our friends
i won’t fret when i am dust,
i won’t fret when i’m with a friend
song lyric fragment I wrote tonight…
The Hippie Eupocalypse
Rog and I are in the Family Dollar on Main to get pops
some collector’s edition toilet paper. I grab the
biggest one of ’em I can and Rog says, “Damn, that’s $9.50.”
I said, “I know but it’s the best value.” Rog doesn’t want
anything for his 50th birthday, at least not from Family
Dollar. Hell, it was like pulling teeth trying to get him in
the store with me. Rog is my pops’ brother but he never
officially adopted me as a nephew so I just call him Rog.
Trouble at the counter, the computers are fucking with me
again. First, the scanner won’t read Rog’s Turtles candy bar
and the girl behind the counter fiddles around, first with
the candy bar, then tries punching in the numbers, then tries
scanning again a couple times. Finally, she reaches over the
counter and grabs another Turtle and it scans.
I go to swipe my pass card on the reader and it’s cranked up
against the register and my card won’t slide right. I try it
from the bottom and it reads. I go to punch in my PIN and the
girl pushes the reader down and I hit the wrong digits and panic.
I let out a groan and the girl says, “Sorry!
I say, “No problem, not your fault… I was just trying to
punch in my PIN when you moved the reader. It’s the machine’s
fault.” Rog and I grab our goods and I head off in the wrong
direction for the door.
Rog says, “The door’s this way Mike.”
I reply, “See, I told you to come in with me. I’d have gotten
lost and had another panic attack. And you didn’t want to come
in with me.”
Pops, doesn’t feel much like drinking, says he’s been sick for
three days, but Rog and I are by the liquor store so we stop
to get a bottle. Rog won’t come in again and I’m not gonna
argue with him so I head into the store by myself, leaving Rog
in the minivan listening to the radio.
The girl at the liquor store says, “Hi!” I’d only seen her
there one time before but she seems to recognize me.
I say, “Hi!” back at her and look behind the counter at the
liquor bottles. They put all the hard liquor behind the
counter a couple months ago because too many people were
stealing. The Evan Williams isn’t on sale any more so I ask
for a fifth of Kessler’s. That’s pops’ usual brand anyway, it’s
alright I guess, but I would have preferred the Evan.
Rog is in the minivan, zoning out when I come out with the
Kessler’s. The doors are locked and I can’t get in. Rog
fumbles around and I point to the lock switch and he flips it.
I get in and Bob Seger is still playing Ole Time Rock ‘n’ Roll
on the radio. Time is moving slow again so I bang my chronometer
on the dashboard.
We’re listening to the radio about to turn on Jefferson when I
see the soy bean trucks going in and out of the processing plant.
There’s no hurry now on the narrow stretch to Huckabuck, just
take it slow and let them do their things. A tune pops into
my head, a fragment of a new one. I sing:
“The GMOs are running slow on Jefferson today…” as we’re going
over the railroad tracks and Rog pipe’s in with another fragment:
“With the old soy beans laying across the tracks
Hope that trains full of women
‘Cause I’m tired of going in men’s backs…”
Rog, it’s at moments like these when I realize just why I love
Rog & pops and Downertown.
agnewpickens 