it’s time, it’s time

I have the breathe of new life and a new leaf turned over and have walked out into the dirt roads from a saloon with a sense of self satisfaction with overcast, pulled teeth, a grin and bear it attitude, a jumbled zig zag of song pinged into the left wall of a spittoon, and felt boiling water beneath this bridge of old calendars and pin-up girls from gas stations on the minds of oil changes and days crossed off. blessed by allergy medicine I thank the stars, throw pennies as confetti, liberated from suffocation, knowledge of x-rayed lungs that come out clean, I am getting high as hell at the moment, let me tell you, walking these scapes, telling you these things, covering blank sheets of paper with words full of themselves, others emptying out, void of telecast, bombast, romance novels and photographs. scapes telling we need longer drapes torn down, re-sewn, replaced clear because, because we seek secrets on the crux of new life hardly tainted by the old, the past, the failures, mothers and fathers from suburbs, cracked values of no color, truly fucking disturbed, carbon copied, photocopied disc jockies. my handwriting transforms to lower case, an old woman is maced in the face, a young woman cries, folded palms, bloody lipped. someone better put these cops behind bars. there’s no cameras here. there aren’t any cameras in sight. we can do as we damn well like, they say, they interrogate, torture, maim, turn loose barefooted on rainy nights. it’s more fodder for the cannon, I tell them, but they’re telling me, it’s time, it’s time to build bigger cannons. my God, the reward for getting older is you get to see more. how do you make sure that you see more? or that you can contain it? keep asking yourself. keeping on asking yourself. that’s what this life is for.

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