The void is passing through the holes in my butterfly net
6/16/2005
Flux
Flux
Everything flows through
Not the train my father welded
imprisoned on its rusty rails
slicing through flat desolate kansas plains
but the earth beneath it
and all its wormy insect secrets
and the sky above it
and all its circling buzzard beaks
eager for a taste of dead flesh
bare-willed with black opal eyes
ready to feast on highway martyrs
under the dying red sun of a living world
Molecules across a membrane
Is my soul
permeated by
the inbetween
encapsulated by time
momentum, heat, and matter
So there IS room for loneliness
Although not much
So I give it a
greater audience
And it tickles
my tearducts
as memories jump the fence
(hardly a dream now -
and the faces are fuzzy
but not their mystery)
and dance across my brain
Sitting at this end-of-line desk
in mid-June
shivering as unearthed
old dusty bathing beauties
and first kisses
faraway in small kansas towns
fading away slowly near the hot, flat, cracking
asphalt of
highway 81
I abandon the desolate dreams
Leave them screaming in the ditch
with the motor still running
They live or die under the same abyss as I
Traveling light through the days
Have they remembered me
as fondly?
Have I shed the need for continuity?
Have I drawn the veil
open
or closed?
How will I know when memories die?
The road is always a whisper
The burn of endless travel
pulling roots and baring them
to the setting sun
I Drive long
and never stop
As long as there are roads
posted by Edward Svengali @ Thursday, June 16, 2005,
