Loud and True

If Thou Dislik'st What Thou First Light'st On

-Dean Young fr First Course in Turbulence

I had come to the house, in a cave of trees,I had dreamed of the perfect gray pants,I have a life that did not become,a young sister made of glass.I have done it again.I like a church, I like a cowl,I like the look of agony.I love the old melodious lays,I love it when they demonstrate the oxygenmasks,never messing up their hair.I met the Bishop on the road,In a coign of the cliff between high and low,In a dark time,Among wolves and periwinkles,In a station of the metro,In Breughel's great painting, The Kermess.Indeed I must confess,Indigo, magenta, color of ghee,what the hell is the color of ghee?In June amid the golden fields,In some unused lagoon, some nameless bay,In spite of all the learned say,In the depths of the Greyhound station,In this world, this isle of dreams,Intimations of mortality,In unexpected infancy,In vain, in vain—the all composing hours.Yadda yadda yadda.I saw the best minds of my generation etcetera,I saw spiders marching through the airbut let's skip this part, okay?The usual taste of liquor never brewed,the usual It is June, it is June,it is ten years since we rowed,it is 12:20 in New York a Fridaybut seems it out of battle I escapedand now I wander lonely as a cloud.I was angry with a friend,I went into the public ‘ouse for a pint o’ beer,I went to the Garden of Lovebut I wonder, do you feel today as I docaught in an index's apparatus of a thousandversions of myself but not sure I even exist?Dawns and hangovers and phone calls,nothing but silence on the other end.All this fog, a jar in Tennessee, torchesgoing out. Go down any road far enoughand you'll come to a slaughterhouse,but keep going and you'll reach the sea.

Jen Kropinak's : Site Insta

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