grandfather
By: Ben C on 4/1/2003; 2:32 AM
a last line.
sick of this;
these buried ideas.
hidden inspiration.
“elderly elation”. sure.
actors who push their shit.
movies and failures.
"this new idea must be it".
no.
this so called enlightenment.
i'm the unconcerned pilot,
the one who wants nothing...
and tries his best not to.
avoids landing,
when;
he knows the airstrip.
listening to music:
saved me from sleep.
another night:
alone.
crying into my own lap,
resting on a familiar shoulder,
i never got a brother,
or a stupid wife;
to land on or hang off.
sick of the secret points,
that make us whole.
sick of people who like things,
but loving them all.
the people;
who can’t. who just can’t.
whoever said: life in stereo
is better,
was a,
dolt.
--fuck’im.
you know what i'll do?
i'll just float above
all the rest of you.
semi-retarded pigeon,
trying his best to stay blind,
at least,
keep his eyes close-shut.
“a seed on a gust,
knows too much,
to lend any trust,
to those he touch.”
writing whole stories--
whole poems--
just for that ending.
for that last line,
for that,
escaping def’n.
that last thought;
who means everything,
and nothing,
but not, no not even nearly,
at the same time.
attempt an escape;
outside your awake --self...
to really become,
someone else.
lying there.
almost stopped,
heart pre-broken,
the last line waiting:
waiting:
waiting to be spoken:
“...”
“...”
“...” waiting...
“kyrie”
sounded like: “kar-ie-eh”
sounded like: have mercy,
lord, have mercy,
light a fighting fire,
let it burn out,
again and again.
surrender to the wind,
to the cold,
god’s spit,
alone.
i never got a brother.
ky ri e: have mercy.
for we have sinned,
and laid all our
hopes, upon you.
he says ‘kyrie’.
and dies in front of me,
eyes roll back
