Cold spotlight is shining on the
bare dogwood at the far end of the emerald breathing lawn
You’re saying my name over & over
while faeries dance on the end of my cigarette
The wind is blowing away
pedestrians, buildings, chunks of concrete
and the only thing left in the material realm is me,
this patch of ground, and these arcing orange sparks
My name repeated in my ears, now many floors below my head and body
Sweaty hands dig underground in my pockets, finding only pennies
And now I’ve thrown them at you,
my copper reliefs of the most Honest of Abes
and when my ears come back
by god, I’ll be sorry
But stop saying my name
you’re freaking me out
and trembling thunderstorms of neurons are sending wave after collimated wave
Every pulse a cross continental letter mailed via pony express, weeks on the rail, in dusty canvas bags carried over the shoulder of a man who will quit, move home, and die for the union
and the Mayflower descended, well established old money political dynasties on the Atlantic coast of my brain dictate to the gold rush frontier marshals in desert high noon streets of my old western fingertips not to release that grip on the edge of that last slab of ground in all of creation
The wind picks up again
All that is goes whirring by, and the grass in the cracks of the concrete whips my face
The girl at the pizza place that wears her hat tilted just so is now outlined in fluorescent neon, zooming by on a xebec made of chalkboards containing the western canon and all of tensor calculus. My dog straddles the Hubble Space Telescope which is galloping by followed by the football team and all the funny TV shows.
The sweat dripping down my brow weighs as much as a sperm whale, one you’d sail to Japan to spear to death, and these fingers of mine are not getting any stronger
Kaleidoscope rainbow oscillations trace my mind and you’re still saying my name over and over, now with a angry affect to it, miffed about those pennies
I just want to let go and fall into the supernova of the whole of everything. God I’m afraid though. Now you’re reading my thoughts, you’re not just the friend trip sitting me and trying to scare me, you’re everyone I ever met and some of my thoughts embarrass the shit out of me. In sixth grade I had my first wet dream and I told my friends about it at school the next day, and every day since that day has been the same experience over and over while my body grows and I go through phases of just not giving a fuck, phases like the pulses in my mind, phases like your vocal chords lips and tongue forming my name and I don’t know if its even you anymore or its become imprinted on my brain forever- I really am just a glass of orange juice of a scrambled egg. That German guy walks outside in his cool leather jacket, pulls up the collar, and lighting his smoke, turns and asks what I’m on. I don’t even know what it means when he says it. I’ve let go, there’s nothing beneath me, only the fat plushy void and all that I knew and all that I didn’t. All that was, and all that wasn’t. Everything they teach in Harvard Business school and so on and so forth. I knew the real before, it’s that little circle of light in the water above my sinking head.
What’s left now I wonder after it’s all gone, I’ve told you another one of my secrets, I’ve thrown every last one of my pennies at you. I am in space with no suit or oxygen or pressure. I’ve landed in a bed and the beings around me are speaking in a language I do not know. They seem benevolent. I don’t recognize their furniture and the objects in the space around me. Is this heaven? They speak over me, I get up to stretch. They lead to me a lower floor, and seat me in something similar to a chair.
Before me they place a large bowl of noodles with beef broth, hey wait a minute this is pho, this place is Hanoi
Stuff Cam Wrote 