Adjusting to the fact of sickness keeps a certain rhythm namely it’s easier to just forget bedtime as a construct and start sleeping as fast as you can and then when you’ve slept awhile enough go ahead and sleep some more surely the next day will wake you somehow.
Tag: Poetry
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Everything Is Awful But Music
I don’t know if we know what human bodies require anymore when solitude reaches its limit and noise persists just outside of the frame but if chord changes and turns of phrase are to be trusted then I am content to rest my head slightly next to yours as we sway and the lights and the smoke carry it all away.
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A Finger Pointing at the Moon
Today a dandelion peeked in between the pavement and brick wall as if to announce to anyone who will notice the arrival of spring a few yards away they were already cutting the grass using tools that run on fossils buried far underground that if we spend unchecked may one day blot out the sun I took a picture of the dandelion to remind us of what was as sure as it appeared before vanishing like the rest of the known universe.
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Imagined Theatre
Ever since my dreams returned I have had the chance to revisit so many friends from long ago— just last night he performed the play again, after an extended hiatus in an imagined theatre, even though I doubt he’ll restage the role for any audience again, but for me it was enough to see him and know he is well, that we two still stand on a revolving planet that circles the sun and walk on an early spring afternoon to where the books and buffalo chicken strips are still plentiful, and we’ll talk about all the projects to come, even the ones we only give names to in our dreams.
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Time Game
Strange now to think that what we think of as now will be part one day of the distant past just as what is now the distant past was once the present day and what was their future is now a tiny sliver of the vast expanse of history as if history could be something definable a monolith materializing as we play with bones or fight over water the sun has only so many years left in its cycle then they say it will blow apart to be reconstituted by our so called ancestors in the future
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Long Lost Friend
When I lost you I didn’t think there was any way I could be found again as if the concept of found itself was lost abolished, scattered to the four directions until they discovered the fifth dimension which itself was promptly lost in a puff of logic. It’s not that there was no day or night but the gloaming felt more or less like homecoming like winter would at last last forever for starters and the trees gathered bare as twigs for the fire. When I lost you I knew I would never see you again. And now that I haven’t, and you’re here we can pick up right where we once left off which was I suppose like counting the minutes until they counted for nought, for love for now that I have found you I won’t ever let you go.
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Last Dream
This morning I dreamed as I began to waken or I awoke as I began to dream, that life was ending, specifically my consciousness breaking apart into tiny bubbles before my eyes, and all I could think to think was Is that all? I didn’t want it to be ending, and so soon It wasn’t dramatic, a return from the precipice of tunnel towards a clear light, and then turning back again because it wasn’t my time, but even if as the tiny bubbles dissipate when they actually appear awake or in a dream I’m still convinced that we have nothing to be afraid of even if I choked myself awake grateful to have this day happy it is not yet the end.
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Titanic
I’ve decided not to look for metaphors anymore even when they’re obvious. Instead, I choose to be conscious of the things that pass before my eyes and ears. Such as the moon rising beside a tree as I walked and took a seat at the musical the opening number of which moved me so much I cried completely, long before the catastrophe that wasn’t yet part of the story.
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Belated
On my walk today just around the block I saw blossoms just starting to bloom Two friends who might have been brothers or twins A man in a car asked for directions to the theatre A woman smiled at me as I smiled at her A child spun in circles waiting her turn with a scooter And I listened to words and guitar wondering for love that causes each step to follow another.
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After Brecht
In the dark times With the bombs falling Will there also be singing? Yes, there will be singing About the bombs falling In the dark times In the dark times When no one is listening Who will be listening To the singing In the dark times? You will also be listening As you are singing About the bombs falling And no one listening To the singing And the marching And the gathering In the dark times Because what the fuck else are we going to do?
Joshua Keiter 