Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Shadows of the Eyucalyptus 41/100


There is a park where I walk to

In the dark with my dog

Where three great Eucalyptus stand

In my childhood a man sat beneath one of them and took his own life.



I know this because they grow near where I went to school as a child.

At night the sprinklers run

Big rooster tails of water rain down over everything  

with a stillness that I can place

I have walked here for decades

To steal loquats from one of the neighboring trees.



And I stood a while in thought.

Wondering which one exactly it was

Her voice came to me. clear with concern

Sensing that I was thinking on the topic:

Why do they do that?  

I don’t know entirely, humans are complicated creatures. Sometimes they become sad.

What is that? She pulls the word sorrow from my mind.

I imagine the man, revolver in hand, placing the weapon to his chin.

She interrupts. I still have the little piece of metal inside me.

Beaming, as if she has a special piercing.

I kind of respect it.



I look into my phone

 anxiously trying to get in contact with another human.

With their broken juvenility.

Sorrow pouring into me like an emptiness I cannot place.

A human feeling



standing there  

upon nameless thin places

like monoliths in the dark

dancing interpretively to the zephyr of the night

perceiving the universe more as time than as space



Everything you guys experience is short-lived. Even your suffering.

& I kind of respected it.

As I thought about the frivolity of being a human

Overwhelmed in powerlessness from one moment to the next

I went home to handwrite words

In some feeble attempt at traversing time

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