why do they expect you to be thrashing around at every little thing that makes you uncomfortable. squirming when you feel out of place. acting scared when you’re angry. getting mad when you’re afraid.
death is a pause that doesn’t resume. tearing holds one end in your skin and breaking your face open with a rock sides laterally is just a matter of focused energy and that calm you can only achieve when you’re making eye contact with yourself. grip onto a fixed point in space and focus the energy of that emptiness into a point of contact with the present.
you see we don’t actually live in the present. not the way we think we do. I heard Babbit calling from the place between the railroad tracks and the river. Babbit doesn’t speak the same way we do. Babbit’s language is coincidence. you know when you’re thinking about toothpaste. and then you drive past a billboard for Colgate. and then later that day you crack your tooth on the sidewalk?
I don’t like the way you look at me when I talk about things like this.
when the sunset changes into iridescent blue and the organ bats hover over Tenny pass.
I miss the way I thought of you.
you know these things can never last.
let lie the barrows and the burrow holes.
little creatures sleeping sound.
we used to live here long ago.
soon we’ll go back in the ground.
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