(no subject)
it's 540 in the morning on a Saturday in January. Normally I would be sleeping next to the sea with salt and sand and sunshine in my sights, but today it is raining. Today it is cold. Today I am in a hospital in Cary, I have not slept since Topsail two days ago and I am watching my father slowly bleed to death from the inside. There are white walls and white coats with tangled tubes and needles and buttons to push and sounds to beep and bop and a bed that is smarter than I am. There is no familiarity in this place, no consolation. This is not where we are supposed to be.
Back porch, trees, hill, creek bed, dog hair, hot grill, cold beers, sports talk, green leaves, gray house, crimson shutters, short jokes, long laughs, grass clippings, dog slobber, tennis ball, pine trees, warm sand, bath water, salt water, fishing poles, umbrellas, beach chairs, converitbles, dropped tops, flags flying, fireworks booming, stars screaming, music drubbin, movies playin, couch loungin, boards waxed, skin oiled, face smiling, living living living living life; that is home, that is familiar, that is family, that is me and my dad and that is where we should be.
I would tear down the moon for that. That which we had, but we don't. It's in the past and someone's buried it in the sand.
The present is worms meat and saint's ashes. It is IV drips and gutter spouts of dirty rain water. It is the endless and uncontrollable drift of the lonely planets who can no longer revolve and the tears of the species that has been told it may no longer evolve. It is love with no meaning and it is immensely fatigued with loneliness. We are the ones on the dock waving helplessly goodbye as the Titanic departs. I am numb.
Back porch, trees, hill, creek bed, dog hair, hot grill, cold beers, sports talk, green leaves, gray house, crimson shutters, short jokes, long laughs, grass clippings, dog slobber, tennis ball, pine trees, warm sand, bath water, salt water, fishing poles, umbrellas, beach chairs, converitbles, dropped tops, flags flying, fireworks booming, stars screaming, music drubbin, movies playin, couch loungin, boards waxed, skin oiled, face smiling, living living living living life; that is home, that is familiar, that is family, that is me and my dad and that is where we should be.
I would tear down the moon for that. That which we had, but we don't. It's in the past and someone's buried it in the sand.
The present is worms meat and saint's ashes. It is IV drips and gutter spouts of dirty rain water. It is the endless and uncontrollable drift of the lonely planets who can no longer revolve and the tears of the species that has been told it may no longer evolve. It is love with no meaning and it is immensely fatigued with loneliness. We are the ones on the dock waving helplessly goodbye as the Titanic departs. I am numb.