05-22-2021, 02:32 AM
Uncertainty & Independence
Did the black bird leave its mate behind,
or did she
(if it was a she)
die on the boat?
The anchorage between,
floating of plywood on
the sea of reality.
Safe, and at home,
the road passes by, the cars,
still in the flowing stream;
the view from inside the boat . . .
Hands-on sitting,
with machinemirrors viewing
all the snowflakes and white men and women
in indented profile, — knowing at a distance
the spooky atlas — out there
causing harm.
She died on the boat, all right.
And I, hero of my songs,
tarred-and-feathered, walk
and leap in sticky flight . . .
Some call it Generation, I'm
saying Creative Certainty.
There was a tree for me to light on,
maybe not as tall as a mountain,
but who needs that.
I'm a hermit in open range,
ready to be shot:—
If they come for me, they'll come for
you, they say . . .
I come for myself.
Join me. In public. Everywhere
Did the black bird leave its mate behind,
or did she
(if it was a she)
die on the boat?
The anchorage between,
floating of plywood on
the sea of reality.
Safe, and at home,
the road passes by, the cars,
still in the flowing stream;
the view from inside the boat . . .
Hands-on sitting,
with machinemirrors viewing
all the snowflakes and white men and women
in indented profile, — knowing at a distance
the spooky atlas — out there
causing harm.
She died on the boat, all right.
And I, hero of my songs,
tarred-and-feathered, walk
and leap in sticky flight . . .
Some call it Generation, I'm
saying Creative Certainty.
There was a tree for me to light on,
maybe not as tall as a mountain,
but who needs that.
I'm a hermit in open range,
ready to be shot:—
If they come for me, they'll come for
you, they say . . .
I come for myself.
Join me. In public. Everywhere