a scream

Ask yourself the good many plain featured question.

Live out among the people.

Rescind from the toying light of the omniscience of hatred.

Believe.

I went down again to that same place, the cavern of the song, the very infinitive declaration of becoming a long long lost soul, I reached out and petted away my misfortune, which lingered like Halloween on the holiday tree, which lingered. I kept everything in a broken up shade created by my fears. I don’t have anything more with which to give, except these old bastard knowledges, these old caverns which are emptying, the old lingering feeling of not knowing what is in your past. I designate and forsake at once in the same meaning the chivalry which bounds the heart of the vagrant. I take up a long wintered shore and believe dreaming is left with me every time. Every time. Nothing makes for the perfect sentence. There is no perfection in language. Take me with you sometime to this perfumed upper room you keep telling me about from your dreams. Make something better out of the entrails of the witching hour. Believe.

And again, down along the marshes, the cold and bewildered knocking at the door—I kept it shut these long hours for your return and your return only, you nameless thing. I always kept it shut. And going about—flowers, I kept flowers, what’s that flower, Yes I’ll walk again down into the jungle, what’s that flower on the phone, Where, where, I keep it, what’s that flower, identification of the coins of Caesar, what’s in that flower there on the sill.

I don’t have any more cretinous knowledges bereft along my imagined wake, along that ship borne illness which spoke again like the night to me, like the eyelash of hidden language, like the enraged woman becoming little more than your entrapped fantasy. For there is nothing left in a fantasy except which things you used to craft it, and ask the question, just like you always wanted, direct it in, usher in the actors to the play and make them sit in the audience and speak the one word, clearly and softly, to yourself in the quiet quilted stars, and speak, speak it out, and without a lack of courage make things the way you enjoy them to be in your selfsame heart.