100 lines

Whenever you call me friendI fall down on my knees and crybecause I know it’s the only thingnever to happen before in thislife is something you can’t seeit’s a pillow under a hook shotI want to tell you something anythingbut you are there and I am herewe are trapped inside ourselvesand the distance is too faryou are something that I would tellwould be nothing before too longyou are not the finisher of dreamsyou are the beginning of nightmaresor waking but I’m not sure whichthis letter is for you in the futureit will lead you on the pathof goodness or of rightness or ofwrong people and right meaningsor the meaning will be hiddenor wrestling the demon I will have becomerestless under the starlightit’s too bright here to thinkthe negatives would be pitch blackdarkness of a silver minethere are no trees herewhere have you been where are you nowI am no longer here or thereyou are anywhere or are youup in the clouds is a ghosthe is white and blue like a cloudhe paints with his teethhe paints the rainbow before midnightthat you can see from your windowstaring out under the sunlightthrough the gauze curtainsover the high mountain far awaythat is covered over with snowpast the rivers and foreststhat lie awake under Orionhunting the bull that runs foreverjust out of his reachpointing the way for the two of usto join together in song or danceor that other thing and singthe Grinch down off Mount Crumpethis heart breaking his chestthumping with the beathis little dog too running runningwith the bull full of laughter and bloodhe can’t see it anymore because it’s become himwe are trapped he says we aretrapped in ourselves it turns outthat all along it wasn’t you or mebut he and her or her and him orhe and he or she and she or theyeven they tell us that nothing has happenedeven they know that it’s a big jokeone more thing to know before the deathwe are crying like crocodilesbefore their loved ones’ coffinswe are bellowing with grief like buffaloon a berth of wild oxenwe are wailing our clothes are in ragswe want we want we wantbut never can we getwhat is itwe don’t know what it isbut it’s something it’s anythingit’s too many people or not enoughit’s too few trees we need morebeavers to build riverdams we needgrapes too or plums from the ice boxor an ice box even would be niceall I have is this cube isn’t that rightor is a sphere a cube a donut a coffeecup your hands in mine yes that’s rightnow bring the water to your faceclear and cool andfull of somethingwhat is it wantingor yearningI can see in your eyes they’re clear nowthey are as clear as a running streamor the sky that’s clear rightor the water that is in the Bahamasbecause I hear that’s clearyou’re as clear as the sound of a bellyou’re as clear as the braying of horsesyou’re as clear as the glass in God’s eyeand II’m as dull as an ox plowingthrough fields in his yokeI’m as dull as clouded amberI’m dull as you find metonight after dinnerI’m reading the crosswordyou’re sitting beside meyou’re watching TV.