Sunday, July 8, 2012

Upon the impending purchase of a new tent

Situate yourself in such a position
that you can see everything
and no one will ever reach you
Where your voice alone echoes
as the the object of all truths

Streams of words rush below your cavern
splashing against the warm face of all you stand upon

Faster the rapids
Harder the push

And no force great enough,
without a drowing downpour
to wash you from that darkened place
will ever prevail victorious

You must first die and be reborn at the bottom of it
You must first become the sticky mud, ever moving
Then, the minnow
Next, the trout hopping gleefully about the surface
At last, the bear, the grizzly beast.
Again to shit,
but finally, a tree.

Because it's only the trees that will ever see
Or know a god-damned thing

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