The Other Side of the Divine ImpasseAnd whisking through the grove i look aboutwith eyes unable to close i catch a smiletossed and strewn from galaxies far en routeto only god knows where, and rest awhile.I stop a moment, frail servant to my needs,to draw from out the sky a stolen breath,awake, aware, alone, on wearied kness,beside a pool of vomit and crystal meth.Down from a high so high i don't recall,how i got to where it is i lie,certain of absolutely nothing at all,least of all as to the reason why,i breathe back out a sigh without disdain,i do not try to reason or justify.From there the end is not so dark and cold,nor am i humbled, callous, afraid, or bold.It slips as Eliot said that it would,a whimper replaces the bang as it should,the world ends, the colors rest,the systole lastly abandons the breast,and just before the mind retires its springs,its memories, its lost abandonings,a twig rolls over twice, defeated again,as oft in time before it was by wind,and when it comes to settle in the bush,the secrets of the universe finally push,there frozen in the interim time allows,'twixt all the thens the nexts and nows,i am no longer allowed to be at all an i,i am no longer aware i once would die.So such and such the story falls apart,for me, but not for you, nor has it waned,so long as there are atoms in healthy hearts,so long as glass stands firm in window panes,and one more pile of mass inertly parts,one more empty vessel awhile remains,in a grove untamed on South Dakota's lawn,where snowflakes still excite attentive brains.Looking back from here is never done,no thoughts reflect on settings of your sun,no joy employs what once would splendor savor,nor is there to the living granted favor.I cannot, will not, all i was disown,who you could not and did not need to know,save that but to forget that mess of bones,chewed upon by foxes, time, and snow,for what i once was certain needed be thrown,has come at last upon a finer slow,and in a thing or place i've never known,i am on fire with something refusing to glow.It's Heaven and Hell and all you never knew,awaiting each and every single one of you,who dare presume accept the gift life drops,in breaths and deaths and tears and smiles and hops,for good or for bad, yes, both i can tell,its both, and thats good, i assure you as well.Its poetry friends, in its raw, raging form,its so unforgivably cold that its warm.Its inside and over itself at once too,its nothing i'll ever describe unto you.At last, and forever, it's truth's candid face,it's more than you knew could constitute grace.I have to farewell, for the time is at hand,for me to close out from the interim land,for me to now answer the call from the one,who beckons me turn now, to turn now and run.I shall not be back, nor regret what I was,I reckon, in there, well, nobody does.
