Monday, January 12, 2015

The thing that most people think is the difference

wincing at the shrewd dilapidated elegance of   subtropical  California

and those   puzzles  which  join  our  sins   as love    what are our      sins    as love ?     the difference  between   a duty  and  need,   narrows       childlike     and  ancient    the one and   only    tremendous  muse,     the difference

The time I didn't tell him

The time I did

the time I was  my  own hero   and   could  have filled   an effigy  of tones  with sheer     neglect of myself      and called   the flames,   father,  again, searchlight hymns,   so   redundant   the    hot   trope    of melody    plunges  into the  green   implications   famous unknowns/  and    I name  the  forgetfulness :   freedom         the clean biography  of surfaces  coming    to    mean    oneness      

or the way    everybody but  otis   could become  a symbol     of the frozen periphery     as he has become    the difference       between me   and    me —  learning to be casual again    and even when   that gets  as boring and perfect   as  blowfish, the laughing shoulders  of niggas  and dignitaries,       eaters of flesh who condemn    killing      

all we fear is envy                        lately  

my sister  on the tarmac   weeping    while the hot   lights of the camera   melt   her  dilemma   into   skill,    how the subtlest  events      send  you into the family  and back  like an errand  boy

we're not, probably, put on earth to prepare

there are certain things  

that only by living through them       do you learn to live through them    

settlement into colony    and back again   and   tribe   bending   into    bright  nonviolence —

where resistance  trails   off  like  a stolen     line    leaning  on the   familiar  

in a  steady   swarm   of the   inconnu

and       wanna be charlies,  charlatans     afraid  to pretend