“Raise my hands. Paint my spirit gold.”
I saw you sitting at the lake with your face resting in your head. I did not know your head was speaking. Your eyes reveal your heart burning. It is playing your mind like a 6 string. Your flesh is weak. Your blonde hair is sheltering you like a tree house. You are time travelling while you sit, and you are back home. Your mom is inside washing dishes and the crickets and locusts are screaming cryptic metaphors. Your heart matters. Your eyes know that. The bench your crying on is stone, and you want to take it home and stick it in your kitchen. You’ve accomplished being burned out for 2 whole months. In my heaven I can see us talking in bed all night. The scandal of your Museum was amusing in your mind and your lips told it. Its board of directors were covering it up, and we couldn’t believe it was happening. On the nightstand is your spread from This Old House magazine while it thunders outside. Your the princess, and I thought the Twin Spires Church next door fatefully told the story of your breasts, and you thought I was interesting. You like my attention. You told me stories of your family. “Your daddy left you with a parachute. Your voice sounds like money and your face is cute.”
“My grandparents made a fortune at the beginning of the meat packing boom. This is my grandmother’s clock. They are buried at Millionaire’s Mile. I feel like I’m in a funk right now. Reader’s digest published my mom’s poetry. She won a contest. My brother was nominated for 2 Emmy’s. I miss Central America. I want to build a house by the river. You could get so much writing done there” I wish I was on that bench with you. I’d impress you with my dull wisdom and detail. “You’re the most detailed person I know. ‘How come?’ ‘Because. You’re like…detailed.’ ” It’s getting dark outside. That’s when you begin feeling empty. OH well. The moonlight will fill you up.
Your anointing is glistening in your eyes. Your hair is breezing in the wind. You’re fascinating. You aren’t more fascinating when you’re sad, but even so… The bench made of stone would look nice in your kitchen. At your funeral they read some of your poems. As the words fell, we all sat there like lonely stone benches. “In your house I long to be
Room by room patiently
I’ll wait for you there
Like a stone.”
After you died that year I used to imagine that your heart was comforting mine–glowing around it like so many of your words. I cried. Some days the breeze wears your perfume and leads me to class. Your angels must have lead me to my seat, because everybody stared at me. Now I know you are seeing Heaven. I am still seeing the world. “You don’t really need to find out
What’s going on
You don’t really want to know
Just how far it’s gone
Just leave well enough alone
Eat your dirty laundry“
Life definitely imitates art now. Our government has officially become a SNL skit. The announced it on CNN, juggernaut factory of lies. But they say that the government is going to start taking care of us. I trust that. Members of Islam have begun slaughtering the infidels of the world. They do Hitler proud. They kill in the name of Allah. Our government says they don’t know the motivation for the killings “at this time”. And I was taught that they killing out of jealousy.
In their religion they find no peace. The Islamic Radicals are tired of being hot and sweaty all day. They are getting tired of being hot, miserable and poor. They can’t sleep at night knowing how we live over here. They pray to Allah 3 times a day on their sweaty knees and are rewarded with nothing but loneliness, spite, and poverty. Over half our population live in sin and are rewarded with luxury. The only reason why these terrorist don’t bring a more aggressive front to the United States is because they DON’T WANT the headache. They know if they do, then most of them will die and their land will be decimated; they will be forever known in the history books as drug dealing, lazy, unwilling to work, child molesting confused gang banging atheists who walked down the wrong street with the wrong colors when all they had to do was get a job. The truth, ISIS are the worst kind of cowards. They brainwash and abuse their own children. They rape their own women for joy. They pick on nations who have tentative governments with small defense budgets then spread the rumors of their honored martyrs to their impoverished youth, selling them historical significance on sale for the price of their own blood. These Islamic radicals who dawn the banner of ISIS are nothing but prostitutes of their own spite. The Obama office is saturated in our Obama’s fierce emotional ties to Islam. He wasn’t shy about dressing up in their traditional garb for his brother’s wedding. Then our beloved president in love to his beloved constituents said that to right the situation of terrorism in America and abroad: It’s high time we start immigrating 10,000 anti-Christ Islamic Syrians refugees every year for the next 5-10 years. I think he told us that while he was taking his daughters to Church and thinking about the value of a Harvard education.
“I ain’t no politician but I’ll kick it with ’em a minute Cause see, they call me a menace and if the shoe fits I’ll wear it, But if it don’t, then ya’ll swallow the truth grin and bear it“–quote–
Summer is almost over, and I still thank of Caroline and Mary.