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{hurry up} paul adrian mabelis The world is dying, but they have her on a respirator. She wants to die, I can feel it when she squeezes my hand. Those earthen palms and fluid phalange-like alms of old compassion. I heard the fisherman sharing a room with her drowned out by the oceanic curtain between them, his arm severed by a speedboat as he dangled in the wanton daylight of the bay helpless like a gutted carp. I heard the haarp of the blues man tallying death on the gray docks, just a few notes man, blues, all different sorts of hues I tell ya, the common color of depravity, that petrified navy- dyed decadence of a poisoned sky bleeding lines of fine silver iodide. If you join the dance circle, be prepared to dance, the tribe might not like such wallflowers blooming self-consuming as they promenade like harvesting blades across the plains, the dice & games of chance, fascist prancing politicians fine dining in doped up endorphins, dead and washed up dolphins, sonar sound recordings, data-mining forged ahead hoarding of their late literature, the lakes, silent and brown - the oceans raging like a house-fire doused by its own cold walls and a water main break bringing the brilliant flame to a halt. Ohhhhh, the salt of winter burned the eyes, as you walked half surprised behind the bus, moving faster than you could fathom in your lateness. Behind over all, still trying to get a sense of what being "there" meant about to lose another job in the squall. A broken buoy bobbing in the water. That is all, wind and wave . Sink or swim. Choose one. |
