PASTORAL

 

1.

Now even the night is velvet verdant and you still don't know who you "really" are.   The dinner party dialogue was explosive but not real.  Let's take a step back and look at things before we reach the 1950s.  You have to laugh; it's all you were left with.

The foundation is loose and everything faces west.  You tried your hardest to insinuate yourself into sentences but instead you're still a landscape.  So many kinds and types of you, sneaking around in the wet black.

Pots and pans instead of life-changing revelations.  The garden stays more or less in place.  This is another straw hat thought but you should've been there.  You should've been there.  It would have been all you were worth

dangling sparking

multiple centers of attention and you

you just need a pair of pants you can fall asleep in where
memory gets coated with a fine dust of disbelief.  Continuation requires a beginning, and you're still upstairs sorting through your body hair, as if

as if the whole world is waiting

or there’s song, a floorshow for your army, a cut-rate curtain raiser

an armoire for two for room for your new uniforms and important artifacts, you
travel heavy because you never know how when or who

 

2.

A slow death does or doesn't come with teeth and has a decent beachside view.  You have to help yourself before you can crush your enemies

frozen blueberries in a blender, people who need people, unlit applause signs

youth service in waiting it out or curled up in bed imagining pink mist

Hello there, it's always fresh blood until you have to live somewhere

this uniform is a horizon and so is that dirtnap

you maybe could use duct tape, but

"and that's how our day begins"