from d e l e t e, Part 8

Have you said your sermon this morning? the road it travels is dusty and wide and goes round and round and round the mountain to say it is obvious is to say it is crowded with refugees you and the others on the road no destination in sight you are alive though boring at times and the smell of you is instant nausea you breathe white breath in the early morning air indeed you may have a flair for going round and round with a skip and a jump at the most unexpected moments wasn’t that you on a music box dancing in perfect porcelain? a quake threw you from your shelf but round the mountain you must go suppose for once you went up the mountain? would that be a different direction or just more tiring? would it disturb the order of the ten thousand of ten thousand things? do you care? do you know whose sermon this is? it’s a habit you’ll have for life although things do slow down fall into themselves and leave the world to silence and to aha? gotcha? you’re it for now but it won’t be long before another sucker comes this way and you can hide under the desk with the rest of us : look : sky and sea are an undifferentiated gray even the birds disappear but forecast faith in a word and the osprey is there again hanging head-down in the wind it’s plain that being unsure gives you your daily terror you even lift a prayer for it bells ring and you know it is the buoy off Saunders Reef the red light assures you the buoy is still there that no Debussy bells have come to dismantle your ears you’re safe in being where you are not that you’ve got a warranty for life no matter what the salesman said you signed up for Metaphysics 1 cost a bundle left you high and dry : how dare you take all hope away? well in the first place it crash-landed years ago you’ve been standing there imagining greaves breastplate helmet with plumes the whole she-bang but don’t weep today for what you did then there’s a lot to learn about letting go and you won’t hear a clang of armor when you do in your most invincible day you were a larva underfoot you lived by chance shape-shifting you are a fortunate one without a shell no plane overhead gun to your head you are accidentally free in the full terror of being who you are but tell me now this once and forever have you built your language out of the things you love?