March 5, 2000
Barely breathing.
Rude. Loud. voices below– bellowing–
700 times down this trip before–
Different Destination.
Same Damn Thing.
But I’ve changed my name, or my
shirt…
Or maybe it’s the spilled coffee that did it.
Or maybe I’m the power &
Louder & Closer & Further
away.
From the Depot or the outlet or the end.
700 times down this hill before.
Different form of
locomotion.
Will the spot we end up put us right where we were–
with the nets and the bats and the
referees?
or will this road go somewhere
where the orange and the blue and the hues don’t
melt
to brown.
She said that.
Not quite that way, but that’s what she meant and
700 times down this river before. but maybe
oh maybe
I won’t be swallowed up.
Maybe I’ll be followed and hallowed like
Jesus
or Buddha or…
Maybe there are just too many of us–
fighting & Biting & Groping & Hoping for
Love.
or a Chance.
700 times up this WALL before.
but Maybe, just Maybe
this time’s Different from the last
or the first
or the worst
in a group of contestants and I
NEVER SIGNED UP.
At least I never meant to– but there I go with the
Banner and the Crown.
Keep it together. Keep It together.
700 times in this boat before–
or was it smaller then, with more
holes
and more tolls and more reasons to stay
aground.
Instead I’m battling and paddling as hard as I can…
till the blood
Just
stops.
And the moths cover the lights every summer no matter what You do.
700 Miles and 2 left to go. Could be 3, could be more.
When I get there should I
keep. on. driving?
Or do I stop and get out-
stretch my legs and my
heart.
Cut your gift or just sit — on the grass. This place.
So familiar, but I always go back. to the moment,
or the house, or to you.
700 times in this spot before… perched precariously on the ledge.
The sign says “no jumping” but look at those
people.
down below.
swimmingandsplashingandlaughingand
more…
700 times up this tree before
like a
cat.
A Cat whose just waiting to be saved, then scratches and bites at its savior…
It’s like being afraid of the Dentist even though you know it won’t hurt…
or at least it won’t hurt
that
much.
700 times in this swing before–
going back and forth between lives–
But i start to think I’ve been chained to this swing,
Nailed to its Cross Braces,
Glued to its seat.
Believing when hearing, “You’re much too important to come down off that swing, much too valuable to be walking!” or
running or driving or rising
UP. OUT. ABOVE
this ridiculous playground.
700 times on this roof before
shouting Nonsense to those below.
Screaming swear words and trying to Sing… like
Billie.
but the Holliday’s aren’t here. It’s not time for
breaking out the silver and the
Great
Big
Guns.
700 times at this fork in the road.
or was it a knife?
Because that’s what it felt like when it happened.
The Pain of Decision or In-Decision.
And still they INSIST on making all that noise outside.
700 times in this skin before–
But it’s tougher and rougher and
softer
than before. Or at least more determined to
Push off these shores and find more.
Excess Emancipation 