Home before Dark, Part 2

5.

and rope swinging--

rather a hope of a second 

life, a new 

beginning, 

another ten years.

Well, that was a real gift 

as those ten years were a 

second chance

now Jack needed a Third.

That’s it, The Trilogy!

he’d find it here, in the story line 

developing by the poke weed 

by the fence post,

 in the milk weed

the ole weed, around in the 

cycle, through a Sublime 

MomenT, in the Sun

just the thought-- is sublime in itself

and dies

as our saving-- 

self

in the sunset promising 

at the very least 

tomorrow but then Jack 

had this poem to take along and 

increase that chance of any hope,

Save Yourself!

back to the dream and 

lowly beginnings

the leaves
were blowing in the shopping malls  

6.

and corporate headquarters

and here I am in Kansas, damn!

100' on the 4th

I have to get this right

each revolution 

had to increase, Jack felt 

he was spinning, 

not just his wheels and 

he liked the spinning idea 

of the earth and the spinning 

of everything else along-

I’m driving 285 

south from Denver

this Hero is going his own way--

that town, that city, that urban affair

 hid what he came here to see 

that diamonded 

clank changing chance 

crop fragmenting--

big idea! dying 

before it has any chance to be
TruE
They thought they needed more
  guns, Jack wrote on
his horse sauntering

 in the whithering sage,
naked on that horse 
with an older god
out there
he felt he was the very earth 

7.
spinning, 
floating in his oasis 
of thought, Jack thought, 
“ I am it, it is I.”
Achilles took it apart and 

Crispin was wanting 
to put it back together
figuring out 
what it might mean 
realizing as he wrote it meant just 

this, and why Jack kept on
It was good just going 
to the hardware store 
the mountain clarity and 
snow on peak, blowing

he remembered the prayer flags 
though he had disregarded 
the warning of bad luck
Jack was the hilarious fella.
extreme in the page.

a little poof, or puff--
Prophetic intention.
Looking back on his City
his Bridge
talking about the weather

the prophesy 
Crispin kept to himself though
you might overhear him
out on the edge of the Village.

The real Apocalypse
is no Apocalypse--

8.
it was the same whimpering...
it was the same dirty water thrown 
in ones face 
the Walmart aesthetic,
all colored plastic 

for their pleasure and Jack--
Well, the trailors and tumble weed
trash decorating
same disappointment 
Achilles wailed, Why? is it yet unfound--

The Earth creating itself, 
we all, in the stars revolving
City and Country disappeared
The sunset painting into violet
color and MilKy Way

into Sunrise
the cycles circles
and Universe and
moments between
the black 

and the white
circling
all passing, revolving
here again
in the stars

Jack stood there in disbelief 
Achilles looked at the towers
Crispin looked at the Aspens
They were jumping out of the building 
“They looked like birds on fire”

9.
It seemed to go on, 
We with our plans
A part of the NY psyche, 
Jack felt he was now with 
out

never would be part again
to have
to be without
Jack was out there
painting the mountain

a sacred place 
to the Indians
everything smelled like burnt brakes
we stood on the Bridge
 trying to remember

it was beyond us 
and Jack’s cheek was 
wet, this, this real tragedy 
pale beside the thought of 
Achilles rage through Time and --

The bowl, world of indian design was 
of some solace, 
the kill hole entry 
to another dimension.
We see ourselves now from space 

that lonely planet in the stars’
spinning round
the images that make ourselves 
fill our selves, 
our souls, said a different way.