navel label cinqø

navel (final) label #5

Meet me underwater, where all distractions die
The fish cannot be told what to do

When I was green I felt like an imposter
I felt older then, when I was younger I felt much older

I opened it for you too many times
the door. Because I was older but so much younger
in my ways. I made careless decisions as I
got younger

I wore blue jeans

Today is a lot different. I am running longer and longer
distances on my own along the river
for the first time in my life

I don’t know why
but I like it

Yesterday is forgotten though I won’t forget you
What were we doing? the nickel bags turned into quarter ounces
and rolled into dimes

You begin to appreciate arithmetic

the nineties changed me
more than any other decade
i think

and then i met you
you were one of the first to love
me changed

you in your descent
like a base jumper
over the rails
waving goodbye
in a wingsuit

throwing away everything
for a thrill

People get bounced like checks
before we fall. I wish you could
meet me underwater

where distractions die
social media cannot breathe

i am training my body like my mind
nobody told me how

i like to live by my spirit
and its longings

I am somebody no one else can be for you
you were somebody
to me nobody else
could be

a singular moving object
in a forest (of trees)
a label. without a navel

the only stillness
in a forest
(the trees)

life fully hydrated -vii/fin)

The curtain closes and lights go down. Everyone and desperation herself comes along and bulldozes through everything, just to get in touch. Human resource department? So and so demands we run that by such and such. Now and then but no later than now. And no sooner than then. Translated? do not put it off. Rather than be something distasteful, choose to be nothing at all. Nothing. Nada. Substance? Dissipates like the audience down the aisle… like confetti, down, tumbling down from the sky.

Okay, well, i keep tryin real hard to turn this moment, this day, this memory falling like heavy sitting room drapes over me; my thin and fragile half-broken quarter-bleached thin volume of a history of my life as dramatically raced through the last seven or eight years i suppose, the length, so very recent some days or weeks in my memory, and much of the rest falls out into moodswings of greater density and greater into an anonymous telltale of a nervous lovin heart (52 bpm on the average this week). And how would i possibly be truthfully reporting dedicated personal vitals to you? Who do i feel like today? Well, this is personal but I will tell you, no bullshit… an unemployed, overeducated, working-class downgrade. From automaton to human being. The best fuckin dowgrade you ever fuckin seen.

As for the rest of them? The contradictions were stoppages of their so called progress with questions filling up all that cold air in their heads, teeth showing with rembrandt smiles. Twenty thirteen, and the whole operation suddenly seemed on edge of the ice ready to fall into the pond. Back to serene. No longer obtuse. No longer obscene.

For you and me, me and you? Like waking out from under the worst of worst dreams. Like that time back in ’98, you know, up in Chicago. Where latin kings played with queens behind victory gardens on Pulaski. There we were. Homeless in the mind. Looking for the same old shit. Fragments of water, dripping off the lake street el trax. When what was underground rose to the surface, and into thin cold air. So easily. Icicle clear.  Meeting your conscious understanding, even at any odd angle. Life fully hydrated. Frozen into stalagtite-hard times.

This was life on her terms.