Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Jackie and the Jewel Mine

"There's no such thing," he said.
"Oh?" she asked, "How do you know?"

"Are you on fire from the years? What would you give for your kid fears? What would replace the rent, the stars above? Replace the anger with the tide? Replace the ones, the ones that you love? Oh the ones that you love!
Are you on fire?"
-Indigo Girls

Tonight I am certain that every effort I have made in my life to be a part of this thing we are doing (what are we doing?) is a piece of a funeral pyre I've been building, log by log. I keep seeing that monk in my head, aflame. Widows in old India, pushed into the raging inferno. It's burning.

I saw pictures of bombs exploding, of grinning pilots. The Art of War.


When I walk through the woods- man. I get clear, which is to say: nothing at all. Wrap myself around a tree. Not to give her anything but just to feel her skin against my face. A flower appears that is supposed to be dead by this time of year. A breeze rips through us all and I don't know anything, ever, at all.

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