Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Fort Assumption Park, Memphis, TN.

We've been assuming our ascension in Fort Assumption Park, picking through river trash and tottering rock for potent items to guide our profane hands and eyes towards the proper muddy rituals that will secure our bucket seats in Heaven, in Graceland, or sunk to the bottom of the Mississippi. Easy to imagine a year, two years, five years after the End, the Quake, the Fall, the Reckoning, turning your head to see only the ragged brush the color of soft snake entrails, pink and stained, to see only the tires and deflated soccer balls and jumbled messes of broken glass like discarded gemstones, to utilize the dazed wonderment and detachment and imagination awarded to those who have deprived themselves of sleep just to spend five hours screaming down I-40, trailing banana peels and plumes of cellulose smoke, to gorge on friendly grease and watch Memphis' black sky illumined to the saintly blue of early-morning rock and roll, to stumble down the shitty riverbank and not have a second thought to where the girls are and who they're thinking about, to all the busy bored cars on Riverside Drive nor to what their busy bored occupants are doing at 8 am that could possibly be more edifying than watching the river lurch and roll between us and Eventuality, between Arkansas' far shore and our tired feet balanced in Fort Assumption Park, pondering our imminent ascension.

And I saw a woman in the family-owned gas station this morning and she looked exactly like you in twenty long years, or five hard years, and I bit my tongue as I took the bathroom key, wanting nothing more than to ask her if she missed me yet.

3/7/11, 8:18 am, Memphis, TN

Friday, April 15, 2011

Mushroom haiku

doesn't matter, I'm just fine
Eating ginger snaps