I like to think of my life as a very straight road that I am walking upon and not terribly quickly.
To my left are lemon trees–to my right, a field of corpses.
Please note that there are no lemons on the lemon trees.
How do I know that they are lemon trees? Better yet: how do I know that there are no lemons on them?
Can I not detect the natural vibrancy of lemons?
I am not walking terribly fast on this road. And to my right–the corpses do not smell at all.
How do I know that? Well, first of all, because the lemons don’t either, and so it would be easy enough to detect the smell of corpses if there was a smell, even if they smelled like lemons, and secondly, the corpses are alive–fussing and carrying on and winking.
You might wonder if they smell like lemons–natural, vibrant lemons. A reasonable question to ask.
But do not ask me: ask them. Quickly, before it is too late. Where am I and why? Everything says.
You’re killing me, they say–but that’s no answer
On a road that I am walking, not terribly quickly, and so not so
Because I observer carefully (I don’t)
or that I absorb deeply (I can’t)
it’s just that I am afraid
Stop walking so quickly
Of what? Of the lion over my head plastered to the sky like a sweet ink transfer to a pastry. The movie is about to begin! Roar!
I stop to watch, which is easy–the wind picks up, the branches shake a little, everyone settles back and stops asking questions and closes their eyes towards the skies with a profound pleasure that involves all of us which we have yet to discuss.
all artwork, including handsome monsters but not crinkly devilish types,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2008
To my left are lemon trees–to my right, a field of corpses.
Please note that there are no lemons on the lemon trees.
How do I know that they are lemon trees? Better yet: how do I know that there are no lemons on them?
Can I not detect the natural vibrancy of lemons?
I am not walking terribly fast on this road. And to my right–the corpses do not smell at all.
How do I know that? Well, first of all, because the lemons don’t either, and so it would be easy enough to detect the smell of corpses if there was a smell, even if they smelled like lemons, and secondly, the corpses are alive–fussing and carrying on and winking.
You might wonder if they smell like lemons–natural, vibrant lemons. A reasonable question to ask.
But do not ask me: ask them. Quickly, before it is too late. Where am I and why? Everything says.
You’re killing me, they say–but that’s no answer
On a road that I am walking, not terribly quickly, and so not so
Because I observer carefully (I don’t)
or that I absorb deeply (I can’t)
it’s just that I am afraid
Stop walking so quickly
Of what? Of the lion over my head plastered to the sky like a sweet ink transfer to a pastry. The movie is about to begin! Roar!
I stop to watch, which is easy–the wind picks up, the branches shake a little, everyone settles back and stops asking questions and closes their eyes towards the skies with a profound pleasure that involves all of us which we have yet to discuss.
all artwork, including handsome monsters but not crinkly devilish types,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2008
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