walking all day

I dreamed I was the President of these United States I dreamed I replaced ignorance stupidity and hate I dreamed the perfect union and a perfect law undenied and most of all I dreamed I forgot the day John Kennedy died I dreamed that I could do the job that others hadn't done I dreamed that I was uncorrupt and fair to everyone I dreamed I wasn't gross or base a criminal on the take and most of all I dreamed I forgot the day John Kennedy died oh the day John Kennedy died oh the day John Kennedy died I remember where I was that day I was upstate in a bar the team from the university was playing football on TV then the screen want dead and the announcer said there's been a tragedy there are unconfirmed reports the president's been shot and he may be dead or dying talking stopped someone shouted what I ran out to the street people were gathered everywhere saying did you hear what they said on TV and then a guy in a Porsche with his radio hit his horn and t...

                        the shorter and shorter days                    roll through late November                    trees disrobe from their brilliant                    coats of colors to bare                    their intricate skeletons                    to the cold wind and the glancing                    sun and here we sit in summer                    attire and shiver from the lack                    of synchronicity of body heat                  ...

   suspended    like a drained    insect carcass    dangling    on a thin thread    from a spider web    about to be dropped    from the web    by the spider    who clips the thread    to clean its web    of the remains    of last night’s meal    between doubt    and disbelief    and denial    and acceptance    long and hard    I arrive at my edges    softened by time    and the sword

Because the landing was swamped by backwater and because we couldn’t push our boats far enough by shoving them with all our weight up onto dry land we are left without buoyancy and the stars begin their dance slow and majestic and ancient overhead to shine on us that yes all of this has happened before enumerable times tolling away as mountains crumble into massive rivers and trees defend the soil by dragging it in their roots out to open sea on the fast current of the silver silted river to where icebergs resume their melting course past our perception and the trees’ perception and the stalled emotive grind of the mountains so infinitesimally in slow motion that it takes slower eyes than ours to see

Because my shadowy self must always be in control I am uncomfortable as a passenger at rest passively being driven south on I-75 through south Georgia, Orion sailing along over my right shoulder,  into northern Florida.  The green sign at the low concrete bridge that spans the Suwannee River displays the notation of the first phrase of melody composed by Stephen Foster, who also penned “hard times come again no more,” and who died alone and destitute, fevered, his skull busted open after he fell and banged his fevered head on a hard wash basin.  We are on our way to attend a memorial service, ashes to ashes, by way of fevered, late night driving on the end of a day that has found me still awake, somewhat dazed of a hard twenty-one straight hours.  Orion sails on along, with the great hound there, beside him over my right shoulder.  I am comforted ...