i've smoked my share of good evening, hello, how does it really go inside?
i've stood on all my heads to make a better deal.
the civilizations that blindly ramble in this vulnerable neck of the world's woods,
they claim i endorse them
by my nervous tics,
but those tics are simply for show,
if you must know
my solvent insurrection still has enough energy
to upend the infrastructure
of the hideous horror
that believes i'm beautiful enough
to successfully slip through
that last rapidly disappearing
crack.

when restless explorers
pretend they've discovered what they thought
they were looking for,
when the musical chair
won't let you sit this one out,
its time to close the pilgrimage,
tell the trapeze guru he can take off his blindfold,
the syntax of our new vocabulary
will adapt to his falling body.

the centuries pace in the golden lobby,
they've run out of items to argue about,
and now they reluctantly agree
i'm sufficient enough to be let through
the checkpoint to end all assumptions of checkpoints.

disbelievers form a faith
that will adhere
no matter how many apocalypses
say god sent them.

there are unspoken speeches
clinging to tree limbs
that can be endearingly whittled
into sharp
weapons
of
watch out.

stand now
under some miscreant's weather,
say your name to the
reaper,
he used to be grim, they claim,
but anger management turned him
jovial.

stand with me tonight
on an unheard of piece of the planet,
tell all those horrors
hideous and otherwise
that we are beautiful in our
ugliness,
and the light will one day
grace us all
with its
unerring
though sometimes
misguided
trajectory.

scott
florence,oregon
10/28/2010

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