It's A Mess And Full Of Piss, But There's Nice Parts Too

I read some of your words today. None of them were about me. Or that's how it seemed anyway. I'll read them again and again until this is at an end. Or my life is over. Or the world is over. Or the water covers us as we sleep in the deep. Icebergs will melt and floods will come and deserts will grow and there will be nowhere safe for us all to go and I know I'm done and still not done and never done and never started and closed hearted and open mouthed and empty minded and bright light blinded automatic writer unconscious subconscious still can't find the right words to say how precisely I feel, because I feel ten thousand different ways at once and two hundred thousand contradictions within. I'm over, I'm done. We've both moved on. I'm stuck. I'm still here. You're not. That's clear. I'm just waiting for the next right one. My ship will come in, my lottery will win, my stars will align, I'll find my valentine. Just wait, you'll see it's not impossible for me. She'll never be you, but I'll always be me. We'll make a little life together at the edges of the woods. Trees growing, wind blowing moss tumbling down mountain streams gabardine dresses and no fussy frowns wide open prairies and waving grasses and corn with tassels and lots of lovely little hassles and tussles and furrows and fights with the masses teeming streaming people leaving work in their little cars on the highway that runs by like a stream of never ending steel and rubber and tires leave me tired and open and scarred and I just want to run. I want it my way I'm gonna be on the run without a gun, just for fun, in some universe you and I were the ones for each other not another no more now I'm done, and I'm just catching my breath because I'm going to speak until there's nothing left, tell the story no it's not boring going nowhere going somewhere can't it go everywhere at once give it all my voice every last little ounce strength is fleeting time is fleeting life is fleecing me of my years and good cheer still I'm merry, to the contrary now I'm old and now I'm wrinkled and happy and I've got crows feet which are those feet which come from smiles and joy and love and life and I wouldn't trade a wrinkle for another chance, I used all my worries on this chance and I won't let you take it from me, I won't let me be taken from me. I am myself I am my song. I sing my song all the God damned live day long. I hope you're strong, I hope your voice is high and clear and it pierces the air and the heavens part and light comes streaming down around you green light through trees and trails and bobtails and cocktails and horseshoes running on the ground I hope you've grown strong, my pains have ended, I held onto them too long. I hope everything that's happened to you has been a lesson, I hope that lessens, I hope it lightens, I hope it brightens I hope you're not slighted or blighted or soul dark nighted. I hope wind. I hope stars. I hope sunrises. I hope fun disguises and I hope high times and sweet peruvian limes and that nobody nickel and dimes you and that all of these times serve you. Oh my God. Oh my soul. Oh my heart. Oh my life. Sing the song of your life. Sing it long sing it strong sing it all God Damned lived day long. Fuck piss shout shit scream dream make it a pretty thing make it an ugly thing just make it a fucking thing, make a fucking thing that's the struggle that's the buckle we can't ever quite close that's the fuck-hole we can't ever quite fill that's the bucket we can't ever quite fill go to the well again and again and see if the water ever ends pour it out on the ground listen to that glorious sound oh my God oh my soul oh my heart oh my life I'm singing the song of my life with ink and with pen and in the end I'll never trade a sorrow for a joy for they become joys all in the end in the never ending dancing and glimmering that is this spinning ball of mud and piss and shit and filth and flowers growing by a running stream with a girl in a dress of gabardine and a fussy frown and a wide open prairie praise the waving grasses and corn with tassels and all of the hustle and bustle and hurry and scurry so my darling, my dear my whole heart come near and don't you worry don't spill a tear not a drop this thing will never stop it's called life and you sing it and swing your arms as you walk as you march as you chop down a larch you call it from your soul and the song like the wind will make you whole.

Study For Greenfield

Down in the field where the corn stalks get cut, get disced. Get sliced and hauled away and turned into silage. Get turned into something new. The stalks get cut down and turned into food. The stalks get cut down. Cut down in the fall. I'm lying there down in the field. Cut down. Cut down in the fall. Turning into something new. Turning over and over. My whole life turning over. I'm turning over in the field. Turning over how everything ends. Under the stars. Under Orion the hunter. Under those great swirling globes of fire. This starry night that never ends. I'm laying in the earth. In the wet damp earth staring into the sky and seeing the ends of all my friends and family. Seeing how this ball spins. Being turned into something new. Something glorious. Something that causes pain and joy. I'm dying in the field. Down in the field. Cut down in the field. Cut down in the fall.

Automatic Writing 2/6/2017

In the morning I wake up and make coffee and read news about the burning of the world. The burning of my country. The trampling of my flag. The muddying of ideals. The way we've fallen into pettiness and strife. In the morning I drink my coffee and stare out my window at a gray winter sky. The clouds hang low. The wind blows cold. There is frost on the glass. Steam rises from my coffee. In the morning I remember the spring that is coming. The grass that will be growing. I think of the times that are coming and a light fills up inside of me. There is goodness and joy coming soon. Our hearts will be in bloom, and we could walk down the rows of them one by one and bite into them and feel the juices run down our chins like watermelons or peaches or pears and the lovely fruits of our lives are not things you can see or hold or touch or taste but they are things you can love. The fruits of our lives are not our children but the things our children learn from us. I cannot wait to stand with you in the sunshine my darlings.  I cannot wait to stand with you in that bright burning light on green grass and I'll wear a wide brimmed hat, because I don't have hair and I'll wear my old jeans and together we'll kneel in the dirt and pray to the Goddess, Mother Earth. We'll make our prayers into plants and we'll plant rows and rows of prayers to glorify her name in our hearts. We'll plant rows and rows of prayers to sing her praises. Dirt under our nails, sweat on our backs and chest. Oh that is the song I want to sing on this cold winter morning. The song of a spade turning the earth. The song of birds singing in the trees. The song of insects humming. Birds Sing. Bees Sing. Earth Sing. Sky sing. Love sing. Hope sing. Dirt sing. Then when we have planted all that we will the sky will open up it's heart and pour gentle rains on us and blow gentle winds on us and we can stand under the roof on the porch and drink fragrant green tea and stare at the garden of our love our love for our mother our love for the dirt our love for the earth the goddess who holds us to her heart before she sets us down before we run away into the dark oh how I love her oh I feel her golden breath on the back of my neck I feel her arms grip me close and the song that she whispers into my ear is my life it is a phrase of love between the earth and my soul between all that is and my soul and that is my life. I think about this as I sip my coffee in the morning and stare out at the grey winter sky.

Automatic Writing 2/5/17

Darling bring the plates to the garden. Isn't that the loveliest phrase you can imagine? I imagine saying that to you in our house of blue. A house for two. A house for me and a house for you. Darling bring the plates to the garden let's eat our tomatoes and corn in the wet August air. Let's stare at each other in soft low light as mosquitoes bite us and then I'll reach across the table and take your hand and we'll look up at the trees and talk about how much this neighborhood has changed. Darling let's take these plates to the garden, I've already wiped off the patio table. Oh my love in the summer it's a sin to eat indoors. Oh my love in the summer it's a sin to sit anywhere but here in the place we made with our love. Darling bring those plates of corn and tomatoes to the garden, I'll bring you up a cold beer. Darling I love the way the setting sun plays in the leaves of our trees. Oh my love, oh my soul here we have made a home. Something more than wood and brick. Something more than light and air and love and shadow. How can this thing we've made be more than the sum of our parts? How can this thing we've made be more than the whole of our hearts? Oh my soul, oh my love, my life, my growing tree, take these plates to the garden and let us eat there in the sunset in the wet August sunset, the air is thick with bugs and they bite at us, and I love every single one for they pull me into this moment with you. Pull me into this moment after we've finished eating our tomatoes and corn, into the moment when I push the plates aside and take your hand and stare into your eyes. Oh my love oh my soul my light my growing tree my thirsting vine I'm the love you waited for, for such a long long time. Bring the plates into the garden and there we'll eat our tomatoes and corn with salt and butter and pepper and basil and mayonnaise.