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rejectomorphLying on the bed Saturday morning not entirely sleeping I kept looking at the window each time my eyes opened and seeing that it was still lit up. Sometimes it did seem a bit dimmer, and I thought perhaps I'd get up and look out and see if the (partial here) eclipse was underway, but I never did. My carcass retains quite a bit of inertia, and I slept until afternoon, but don't recall just how late, and later I watched the eclipse highlights on Idernet video. Even diminutive it looked impressive, and I found myself wishing I'd been young and energetic enough to drag my ass a hundred and some odd miles north to get a proper look at it. I'd say next time, but I'm pretty sure there won't be another in my careening-toward-oblivion's-cliff lifetime.
I did enjoy being asleep, though, and would gladly have gone on sleeping longer, but something... getting hungry I think... decided it was time to get up. The rest of the day just followed along like a flock of pigeons eating a trail of breadcrumbs so I couldn't find my way back. Well, maybe not quite like that, but something metaphorical anyway. My reality is so dull that it would be unbearable to contemplate were it not rendered metaphorical. Still I should probably not try too hard to do so, as that way madness is said to lie. Madness, I hear, is a pretty good liar.
Maybe I should quit before this gets entirely out of hand, or I get entirely out of head. I might have had a bedtime snack, but don't remember for sure. I'll jut eat two squares of chocolate, if I can stay awake that long. Meanwhile....
Sunday Verse
by Al Purdy
All I saw was the tail of him
the dream fox ahead of me
his rump a red light flashing
in a thousand movie still shots
(callipygous screenland special)
forty feet ahead of me
feet red hammers hammering light as air on the highway
running from death on the highway
he died or dreamed he did
—his tail a flat red poker
flung straight back toward me
his eyes overtaking the shadow
his tail bisecting the moonlight
he was fox fox fox
It was like a stage play
it was like my childhood nightmares
the guilt-ridden dreams of running
when all the adults chased me
but nobody ever caught me
it was like time had stopped for us
and never begins again
His shadow black as a monster
his shadow a soundless monster
stomping the dark ahead of us
suffering when we suffer
dying when we die
And I saw us running
I watched us doing it
the car the fox the shadow
those other selves for witness
—and I wondered about things
I wondered about all sorts of things
his face and what he looked like
apart from a million foxes
the rest of his breed and kin
and whether his foxy character
glowed in his brain and eye
and about this damn predicament
of having a dozen bodies
like fascinated observers
all of them watching us watching
deep in the moonlight forest
or under the bedclothes loving
or killing another animal
I was really philosophical
it was almost like a poem
and it had to end precisely
and ten minutes after midnight
so that I could drive to Belleville
keep an appointment in Belleville
and never forget a word
So here we are
and here we have been forever
running and running and running
your mate in the nearby forest
wondering where you got to
and failed to keep your appointment
an hour ago in the cedars
the mystery of why things happen
this way and never that way
the reason you kept her waiting
an hour or was it your lifetime
in case you go under the wheels
Of course I stopped
and gates of moonlight opened
and lightly he stepped inside
—it was silent that kind of silence
when live events are waiting
jammed at the doors of time
frozen in silver moonlight
the leaped into flux again
—he had to keep his appointment
no matter how late it was
and I had to drive to Belleville
both of us had our plans
plans of the uttermost importance
for going on living longer
for eating and drinking and sleeping
and maybe loving someone
or killing other animals
for being noble and human
or fox fox fox
I did enjoy being asleep, though, and would gladly have gone on sleeping longer, but something... getting hungry I think... decided it was time to get up. The rest of the day just followed along like a flock of pigeons eating a trail of breadcrumbs so I couldn't find my way back. Well, maybe not quite like that, but something metaphorical anyway. My reality is so dull that it would be unbearable to contemplate were it not rendered metaphorical. Still I should probably not try too hard to do so, as that way madness is said to lie. Madness, I hear, is a pretty good liar.
Maybe I should quit before this gets entirely out of hand, or I get entirely out of head. I might have had a bedtime snack, but don't remember for sure. I'll jut eat two squares of chocolate, if I can stay awake that long. Meanwhile....
Sunday Verse
Red Fox on Highway 500 (near midnight)
by Al Purdy
All I saw was the tail of him
the dream fox ahead of me
his rump a red light flashing
in a thousand movie still shots
(callipygous screenland special)
forty feet ahead of me
feet red hammers hammering light as air on the highway
running from death on the highway
he died or dreamed he did
—his tail a flat red poker
flung straight back toward me
his eyes overtaking the shadow
his tail bisecting the moonlight
he was fox fox fox
It was like a stage play
it was like my childhood nightmares
the guilt-ridden dreams of running
when all the adults chased me
but nobody ever caught me
it was like time had stopped for us
and never begins again
His shadow black as a monster
his shadow a soundless monster
stomping the dark ahead of us
suffering when we suffer
dying when we die
And I saw us running
I watched us doing it
the car the fox the shadow
those other selves for witness
—and I wondered about things
I wondered about all sorts of things
his face and what he looked like
apart from a million foxes
the rest of his breed and kin
and whether his foxy character
glowed in his brain and eye
and about this damn predicament
of having a dozen bodies
like fascinated observers
all of them watching us watching
deep in the moonlight forest
or under the bedclothes loving
or killing another animal
I was really philosophical
it was almost like a poem
and it had to end precisely
and ten minutes after midnight
so that I could drive to Belleville
keep an appointment in Belleville
and never forget a word
So here we are
and here we have been forever
running and running and running
your mate in the nearby forest
wondering where you got to
and failed to keep your appointment
an hour ago in the cedars
the mystery of why things happen
this way and never that way
the reason you kept her waiting
an hour or was it your lifetime
in case you go under the wheels
Of course I stopped
and gates of moonlight opened
and lightly he stepped inside
—it was silent that kind of silence
when live events are waiting
jammed at the doors of time
frozen in silver moonlight
the leaped into flux again
—he had to keep his appointment
no matter how late it was
and I had to drive to Belleville
both of us had our plans
plans of the uttermost importance
for going on living longer
for eating and drinking and sleeping
and maybe loving someone
or killing other animals
for being noble and human
or fox fox fox
