credence
somehow purchased with funny money
our president
finally pushed us to action
we railed against
Well it was all dead
we went through the
litany of all the dead things
on the “Road”
just words,
this death became a new beginning
though few saw it as that.
They were too busy
“our desire became too difficult
to tell from despair.”
at least Post was over
Terminal Classic ahead
began all over again
pre something
all the paintings were lined up, there
seemed simple truths between, in
seen
memory and conscious
what was that big square
blocking everything
14.
He didn’t like that
didn’t understand
Jack said he needed to know
more of the story
that he should read on
It was the opposite
of what he thought
it was sacred time
which meant it was an eternal
presence
and being here Yes, part
it did block maybe the constant,
constant,
well just thinking
on it was what it meant
to think the present, or not just
ideas about the thing
there was so much
more involved
Crispin would miss.
Achilles, was Dyonysian,
he enacted the change.
He pursued and never let up.
So you might not like the square
blocking
what you thought to be--
to be out there
it was Heaven really
why should it just be handed to one?
Maybe a Bang!
15.
and a turning--
Crispin thought the differing aspect expressed
it best and none were perfect or
Ideal or transcended
this process.
Jack thought of this
entering the west 4th Street Station
he had a pocket full of drawings
the Subway drawings
they kept this thought present
and he felt a bit of a sage,
like crazy mad,
Prophetic
talking to the guitar guy
he thought he knew
from the Mudd Club, maybe
it was a continuing
somewhat dangling
conversation
conversation
there just wasnt any audience
any more
like when he had the crowd
listening to him on the soap box
about the Woman’s House of Detention
they wanted to tear down.
Jack was disappointed
just as his mother said he would be
and he fumbled around in the
dark church on 42nd street
as the day wasted.
16.
but today was new
and to and fro and to and
these repetitions he made
an abstract structure and routine
his life
he would make a picture of it,
a painting-- that man with the walking stick
said, to be respectful of
maybe just what the painting implied
a structure or order
thought of or lack of--
Eternity all toc and no tic
this forever left
abandoned
Jack was a part
of the world and it
was dying all around
that tree at the
very center was fine
but he’d look up
worried that it would be gone a
good sturdy Ponderosa Pine
Jack would draw the genres
morphing together
into something else
Akilles couldn’t see
any transcendence
at death,
still dragging Hektor
by the hair around the arena,
except for the meaning
in the word.
life had been such a glut
he was trying to be beyond that weariness
of the next,
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