Soliloquy Outspoken 12-16-10 By Joe Churchwell The hills on the skyline are the source of an everlasting tranquility which only we can hear, over the bridge hidden in the forest, to see our family of strangers, and they never ask us what we are. And did you know sometimes sleeps for a year? And you--live, there is no choice. Your eyes that speak through infants or the dying, tell me, what is wrong with me? What is sunlight? Forgiveness and thorns. I don’t do this anymore to get stoned, I do this to wake up. The audience will be held in the attic, four years ago yesterday. You’re dead, actually. That’s not how you were born. It took all your life. Onwards toward the most terrible and largest fear: you are going to live. When you wanted to stop you would not, and when you could have then you never would. This black hole sounds out with a musical note, two galaxies explode together, I think I need a Tylenol. Always we have remembered the most terrible things about the most terrible times, and they return to us in spirit. Our two realities-- perception and dream. But when it turns horrible once again, it is the spirit. The real spirit. The one which keeps us comforted when we are alone and all else left us. I came in to this world a bloody and naked man screaming, and I live like that. Coma, always. Morning, fading, vanishing, decades ago. I am so extremely tired of this long separation from God. This flight from heaven. Now this sun of our cremation. Memory comes from the future, I remember speeding through the wheat fields of Kansas. The sky is a river of lightning, falling, rising. This second beyond time. I swore we would always be together, and yet… Thank God, I will wander. Once again belong. Remember us. Not just you. We the watchers of mid-December. Bring it to mind, say the names of those who breathed and spoke every object’s name. A black shadow voice. We were so stoned we had died. And me, myself, I know you’re still there in the years past where I last left you burning, screaming, softly. We were so many plausible outcomes. Unseen places and words unsaid for this our haunted Noel. Stay with me. There is nowhere to go. There is nothing out there. Stay with me.
Posted on: Sat, 15 Jun 2013 03:46:42 +0000
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