“…to fill the world’s cracks with needles that will let us hear those cracks speak…”
William H. Gass
from Reading Rilke
I know this feeling
I know where it comes from
And I know who’s leading
Writing as always
Opens up the floodgates
Now it’s going high ways
I will not be lost
You will always remain
The one who paid the cost
Blood from the darkness
Power from the name
And glory when it all comes falling down
*disclaimer: I am not proud of this as writing, but as action.
The sun has set. We’ve wandered along the riverbank and trotted back. It is a quaint street. One of the many, but we gasp about “O! How lovely!” it all is.
The candy shops are magical. Willy Wonka was real. So was the Mad Hatter.
Lights from the wharf glitter on the water now. They’re adamant not to be carried away by the flow of the river.
Chatter in the lamp light. Slapping thighs and necks to massacre bugs. Old friends meeting as tea glows gold by candle-light.
The chill coming down and we rise to leave.
It’s neither hot nor cold, it’s neither bright nor dark. There’s noise but one can find silence.
The Savannah Marriot Riverfront has a balcony and walk along the bank of the Savannah. Terra-cotta deck chairs and old metal lamp-posts on red cobble-stones. Breeze. Quiet water.
A half-mile up the river a steel bridge. A half-mile down, the wharf. Right across me, just trees.
The distant sound of a guitar, somebody jamming on a yacht.
Good one coming.
I really don’t want you.
Your daddy raped me
He already broke my heart too
I really quite hate you.
You will be ugly
I wouldn’t wanna touch you
do you know what I will do?
Baby like an emerald.