write 10 minutes without stopping

12Jul09

I think obsessively.  About harmful things.  Long spiny things full of metal and salt.  I wish I’d stop thinking.  I’d wish the long windows of the earth would close to me and nothing would leak in for me to considerer.  But surely the clouds with clowns strapped to their moist tops riding them like cattle would pass through the glass and I’d ponder the unreal and psychotic blues of the pearl curled around the grain of sand.  I’ve been in love with my mind for six whole weeks now.  I don’t love anything else but my mind.  I like the way it bends towards substance and playful feet.  I like the way it stretches into my stomach because it’s hungry and my mind is smart enough to know where the food is, even if it’s chewed up and mixed with acid.  My mind doesn’t care.  It like food in a dull pooling wasteland.  My mind takes a bath in the rut.  It rots next to the rotting things.  I wish to know your clan.  Your hand that wipes the curls away like ropes on a thin line on the forward.  I love your beam, your lightning stream.  I can’t regress.  I can’t always forgive the un-loyal.  They went away to bite at the ankles of false love that hung like a loose bandage over their loneliness.  I hate the way I cleansed their wounds and they repaid me by not listening to the beating drum of health.  I beat my own drum.  I carried a collapsed soul on my back for six weeks.  I cleaned its teeth.  I buried it underground.  I told a story.  I folded the pavement.  Hard sediment melted in my hot hands when the heat came to me and frayed at the edges of everything I touched.  My mind molds the blanket of this earth and I saw around the corner two spools of thread.  I tied it to my thumb and ate a ripe banana while a rose petal tickled me between my toes.

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