untitled (30 august 2010)

just as the fog falls into the mountains
hugs the trees
and stands by

just like the full breath
after a too tight dress
has been unzipped

just the freshness
of a wound

it just is.

the dull headache after a cry
the dehydration of drinking alone
the singular weariness of the stars

either it is
or it is not.

as i recall
that's what you exclaimed
you, sir, were a prophet
of
surreal reality, absurdist comedy

perhaps i'm ashamed
that i cannot claim more
than half your brain
i've wondered
since you've died
if the only reason i'm still alive
is due to my
lack
lack
lack
of intelligence

faux nihilist!
assigning meaning
(even if the meaning is a lack thereof)
you were the true one
arguing that answers
for answer's sake
would be the death of you

brilliant you
paused, immortal in my mind
my mind
is cramped, smashed forward
heaviness in my forehead
my face is tender to the touch
tendons tightened
body compacted, contracted
these are not things you've done
but the result
of my mind
processing what has been input
details i'd needed
and even ones i've created
to gain meaning
and there i go again

just like the dandelion gone to seed
it's the fuzziness of my own reflection
it's the understanding that reading
is just another form of consumption
it's the breath
taken away
by the force
of reality
and knowing
that your friend is dead
and
it. just. is.