many is the time i've thought
you don't have to agree with me
but how could you not?
i had a vision once on a summer night. my temperature rose, translucence filled my eyes, and the dark room was just as dark as a cave, the cave of swimmers. i could see only the truth and it touched me strangely. it looked almost like the night before if not for the unusual gleam which lit the water and the stones and the path which leads where we all know it leads.
it was almost undoubtedly after a day at the beach. down the rope to the cove to watch the seals. the long grey wings of birds diving into the sea and returning to sky. one day a feather arrived along my path-
only a feather could bridge such a gap; i've never known a more grave countenance, sir, in my life-
but occasionally a soul cannot help but take note of the wine and ask for a glass. heavy as a wild sadness, in my arms like a flour sack. a hand in my hair and a startling fever. this was a night as clear and black as space. every soul present heavy as meteor iron. a bottle of perfume made of poppies and datura in my right pocket, i observed more closely the fine print of addiction. but i felt free as a coyote and though all was tar around me i did not sink.
and though all was tar around us, we did not sink. the greasy steps we took remain
dispersed-- some to the water, some up the path. translucence crept across the face of the night
as it dissolved