I don’t want to feel the shame, To feel the same, Don’t want to be in pain, Ashamed, Inside myself, Feeling rage, Against the stage, Trying to stop the wars, Inside myself, A memory, Of whispers, A sigh, In that rain, Against the broken showers, In a tower, A nightmare, Of dancing metal frames.
I held your face, In my hands, A dream of breathing shallow, It was my decision, Oh how I kill myself for it, To pull that plug, My dear love, To live with that decision, I fell to pieces, That unholy day.
1684, Number on the door, Wine, Drunk like water, To drive that madness away, Angry young men, Waiting for the end, A somber moment, Oh drifting softly by, To see, That sea, Oh hairy lies, To feel alive, In cosmic lights, Drifting through angels, Alive, Oh beauty, Oh father, Oh mother, Dying On the vine, A herald, To hear, A final sigh, Angry young fucks, Crying in the night, Blasphemy, In midnight hour, To revel, In made up words, Of life, Lies, And simple things!
I laid there, Melting there into the carpet, A dream like trance, A nightmare in fantasy land, I felt the world spinning around me, Chaos, Madness, Jesus was there, Melting into Heaven’s gate with me, We were souls, Drifting through time and space.
The light began to fade, I still thought I was a shrimp, In a stormy sea, Being eaten by Moby Dick, Oh Henry, My Henry, Did you see the dying of the light? Margie died, Last night, Cancer took her brain, She was only 45.
I tried to stand, But fell back to my knees, Wasn’t a prayer I uttered from my dry lips, Cursed be to any God, As Jesus swore the same, We’d never die again!
Ice cold beer, What the fuck are we doing here? Mother is dying, somewhere, Maybe father knows where?
Trumpets blues, Harvard and 9th, Jesus died for somebody’s sin, Who here is revealing sins?
July 12th, World is pulling apart, Reaching for the top, While sinking to the bottom. We were standing there, Waiting for a bus, Never comes, Doesn’t say much, For our transportation!
Rust, Lost in trust, Who here has a buck?
Gives a fuck?
Balloons falling through the waterfall, We cannot see the bottom, Trust faith? Die before you hit the floor.
Type, Type, Words on the screen, Jesus, Who sees? Who hears? The blind lead the dead.
In a few years, I would be dead, a memory in some data bank, possibly even erased, to make room for those still alive.
The sky was gray; overcast, as I walked the two miles from my house to the beach, the wind hitting my face hard.
“Lyle?” a voice crept from my memories; July 12th, two years, maybe three years ago, I was seventeen, Aunt Tilda was dying; I couldn’t see her then, there at the hospital.
My mother was dying too, both of cancer. I tried to see them but I couldn’t, I was sick, the flu, I think, my father let me peek at them through the window of their rooms. Both laughed and waved.
I waved back.
When I die, I hope there is someone there to wave at me; a small glimmer of hope before the end.
I wrote a letter to mother; father gave it to her, please come home, I will make Chester pudding for you and father.
She never came home; died on the 20th of July.
Aunt Tilda on the 21st.
I sat there on the beach.
I did not think about death as the waves crashed to the shore.
We flew, To touch the sky, To go where no one could touch us, To bring us down, To fly, To sing, Upon gilded wings, We flew, To find ourselves, Among the clouds, We saw, The Heaven’s angels, Singing to us, As our wings brought us, To that bliss, Among the clouds, So high above, To softly drift, Our life was ours, To do as we wished, To fly, Dear ones, To fly.
The best time to attend church is just when “the meds” are kicking in. As the ghouls begin to feast on the body and blood of their savior, you begin to realize that the world is going to be okay.
The pastor begins to compare her being lost with her husband for 6 hours up in the woods to that of Jesus, who is literally being devoured by his followers.
I say amen as the teleprompter tells us.
The pastor is reading a script the entire time.
I begin to think I need more meds.
The dare to be weird crowd are sitting across the aisle.
“Hi my name is Dave, it sure is nice weather we’re having, right?”
I smile, nod, say something, maybe yes, I don’t know, my mouth isn’t moving, the natives know, I’m high, oh Jesus, I’m high as a kite right now.
Maybe I’m not.
Maybe I just think I’m high.
It’s all an illusion, put together by Hollywood, to make me want to take more medicine.
The pastor is beginning a new scene.
It’s Lent. Or The Time of The Gathering, there can be only one. PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE begins to play. Swords clash. The end of society inside my head.
Pastor is still reading a script.
She doesn’t want to forget a thing I guess.
People are opening their sandwich bag with Jesus’ body and blood.
I must have missed something.
I say amen twice.
Everyone turns to look.
I turn too.
Damn sinner, who said that?
We sing a hymn. Nearer to thee. I sing loudly. Off key. Someone sighs sadly. We all say amen.
At the end, there are no pancakes. I sadly leave. “At my church back east, we get pancakes!” Im asked to never attend again. An Easter miracle indeed.
In the night, I see the fire, Burning bright, Among the misery, In that moment, All is revealed, There in the pouring rain, Sweet misery, A razor blade across the heart, Oh Jesus, Don’t cry, We have our way to fly, To kiss the sky, A dream, There, In the field.
WANDERING WHERE I AM GOING! 