Post by drystyx on Jul 11, 2018 6:43:47 GMT
14 years he survived with me,
first in the efficiency above Ting's pub, where he would sometimes jump or fall from the window, sprawl out and lament to get back in,
but he became more and more like me with each year, moving to the house on M street, playing his hide and seek below, to the house
in Bardstown, for he began as a verb,
and I let him become a noun,
just as energy becomes matter and matter becomes energy,
a noun forced to follow the rules of the enemy of all life of the Holy Ghost of the good
who lives in verbs and can only fight with adverbs
in a stacked deck of the false accuser who fights with adjectives for his game of nouns,
and we resided there and molded the noun,
and then to Frankfort for years happy below the biker bar,
jealous of the room mates dog who I would walk in Cove Spring Park.
On to Bardstown again, to Indiana and we moved often, he trusted me to move him 14 times in 14 years,
the last time to New Salisbury in desperation, and I knew the danger of the highway outside,
and knew it would take many trips in and out of the second story apartment before he learned the danger of watching my upstairs from across the highway,
and I picked him up and tried to turn his little head left and right to look for traffic,
because I selfishly wanted to keep him a noun with me as a noun in a world where verbs are trapped as nouns,
and he never worried.
Oh, he almost made it, and he went quick and quiet before he could learn that one last lesson,
a lesson he didn't need as a verb, which he is now.
Buried in a cotton sheet out back, I pray he is under no one's thumb any more, that he is free as a verb, that he is now "Win", that he is now "Overcome"
That he is "Escape, Inspire, Create, Devise, Run, Succeed," all that we were told we couldn't be as nouns.
And I want to be there with him some day, and hope that the end of the noun I am isn't painful, and I will be happy if the clang door shuts
as the accuser flails with the usual false accusations and the false hopes and the false promises that I hope enough of my memory will retain
as a verb to know better than to become a noun again.
first in the efficiency above Ting's pub, where he would sometimes jump or fall from the window, sprawl out and lament to get back in,
but he became more and more like me with each year, moving to the house on M street, playing his hide and seek below, to the house
in Bardstown, for he began as a verb,
and I let him become a noun,
just as energy becomes matter and matter becomes energy,
a noun forced to follow the rules of the enemy of all life of the Holy Ghost of the good
who lives in verbs and can only fight with adverbs
in a stacked deck of the false accuser who fights with adjectives for his game of nouns,
and we resided there and molded the noun,
and then to Frankfort for years happy below the biker bar,
jealous of the room mates dog who I would walk in Cove Spring Park.
On to Bardstown again, to Indiana and we moved often, he trusted me to move him 14 times in 14 years,
the last time to New Salisbury in desperation, and I knew the danger of the highway outside,
and knew it would take many trips in and out of the second story apartment before he learned the danger of watching my upstairs from across the highway,
and I picked him up and tried to turn his little head left and right to look for traffic,
because I selfishly wanted to keep him a noun with me as a noun in a world where verbs are trapped as nouns,
and he never worried.
Oh, he almost made it, and he went quick and quiet before he could learn that one last lesson,
a lesson he didn't need as a verb, which he is now.
Buried in a cotton sheet out back, I pray he is under no one's thumb any more, that he is free as a verb, that he is now "Win", that he is now "Overcome"
That he is "Escape, Inspire, Create, Devise, Run, Succeed," all that we were told we couldn't be as nouns.
And I want to be there with him some day, and hope that the end of the noun I am isn't painful, and I will be happy if the clang door shuts
as the accuser flails with the usual false accusations and the false hopes and the false promises that I hope enough of my memory will retain
as a verb to know better than to become a noun again.