Did you see the water streaming down the outside walls?
Even in the heat of the night when the stillness hums loudest the ceiling cracks appear lost. The water drains down. Down, down, down. A studied run-a-way he could never slip through without scratching the cortical brain tissue. An image thought responding to delirium and drift. Just lie.
Hidden in a canoe he criss-crosses sky rivers only to be countered by the vulgar and incoherent family. His brother's mother was a master of glib, good mannered indolence. She canonized deceit. Her marriage was a miscarriage. The run-a-way became animal staking out the path of escape in all its positivity.
When do you leave she asked.
When do you think - do you think he said.
(He knew that resistance was surrender.)
He said he was never born he escaped.
Wrong. Don't deny your birthright.
You always enjoyed suffering she said.
Never look for shame in dark pines underwater. He stood high looking out over the river. Map the sandbar and cross the threshold where all forms come undone. A false intensity.
Rain. Rain go away. Spill into the gutters.
- See: Writing
:: note :: ... waiting for the rain ...