A Faded Photograph

I can remember where the hyacinths grow
in the faded dust
among the dead men's bones
and hats of forgotten soliders
all in a field like a ruined cathedral
a grisly sepulsher for life's love-lost souls.

Lying in this field all day
humored by my memoirs
all in a forgotten day,
between time, between dreams
known destiny apropos,
not a scream--not a tear
not an andrognous whisper
escapes from my battered soul
because this is my day,
my only time to glow.

I can remember where the hyacinths grow
and the ivy coils around a dead men's bones.

"what a waste of a fabulous day,"
I heard myself say,
early on one flowery morning.

"I think we are in the quiet land,
where reason's voice has faded away..."

"Only the wind," I muttered, I said
only the shadows of a past life
and I would disbelive in them too
if I can.

Marching down, down, down,
through times doorway marching down
into the sun
through the rain
past the light house and the dam.

There is no love here
damnable reckoning--damnable time
and you will find me on any Sunday
walking with my back to the dawn.

I can just say
that I have come from the night
to dirty streets
with clicking heels leading me home.
            . . .
The sun beats down on a shimmering field
to reflect off abandoned car hoods
and old tea pots
to gleam down on a single rose,
--red though it was once black--
with a solitary tear drop rolling down
rouge petals to land in the tangle earth.

But what else is left to be said besides
"It is a good time for you to go,
I wish I could go with you, you know"
Reaching journeys end
I would wish to see
the light of day again
and perhaps an ocean shore.

            II.
I come into a new consciousness
hiding away in a corner of Die Feldmous
seeking out the company of no one,
hoping them not to seek out mine.
Across the room between two acts
a girl turns and glances quickly at me,
a pretty little thing maybe
eyes that seem to glow in the soft light.
I sharply turn away--
being shy I tell myself,
the orchestra hits a crescendo
my breath catches for a second
and I see that she looks at me once more.

Should I care Should I care?
run a comb through my hair
say my prayers--sleep at night
keep on battling an endless fight,
Should I care Should I care?

The sun beats down again
burning burning through my skin

"Does the sun always shine here?"
I say I whisper

"Boy this is the endless summer land,
You'll find no answers here."

Just the wind, I muttered I say
Just the...
wind, playin that same old song again.

I stand up to take the air--
have a smoke, take a toke
count the buttons on my shirt
pass the girl and she gives a smile,
a lovely little flirt
at the fifth button I sit down by her
make some uncomfortable chatter
and aquire a date for next week.

"But you hate this girl"

"Just the wind" I mutter, anyway
who knows if I hate her as much as me.
                    . . .
A hot wind blows through a field
whistling by some dead brush,
turning an old weather vane
that creaks rather rhythmically
and settles on a single rose
that stands defiantly against the charge.
The rose is the color of blood,
it has one leaf,
green like this land has never seen.

The concert comes to an end
I stand to take my adieus
realizing then that I've forgotten her name
do I care?
Does it matter anyway?
I try to tell her my name and realize
I've forgotten that too.

"Just the wind," I muttered
she looks up in confusion--
I know my name is around here somewhere.

Should I care Should I care
Wash my face--close my eyes
If god should take me befor I rise...

I will count the buttons on my shirt
take a blow--pick up a ho
suck down the yam yam
like so much sweet potato

Should I care?

I'll take the air in a psychedelic trance and
take communion with nature's visible forms

The rose rocks lazily in the wind,
a splotch of color in the faded land
even the hyacinths are gone.

What is left to be said besides
"It is a good time for you to go,
I wish I could wait for you, you know."
Reaching journey's end
I would just wish
to still remember,
to never forget.

"Just the wind," I mutter I whisper
Just the shadows of a past life,
and I would disbelive in them too,
If I can