torn labels

Mt Katami can be seen from th front door of th Ice Cave.  upon
stumbling outside at 2am – if vision b clear – one is faced w/ th sober
darkness of a purple rock face.

it controls th clouds.  peak stabs th gray belly of th sky for snow.  rarely
is a day so perfect, though a blue sky mightstretch clear from horizon
to horizon, that a navy blue touque isn’t pulld down around th summit.  

rolling foothills do not extend gently upwards, rather teeth of rock bite
up to high-altitude meadows – smooth and silvery-green cut only by th
silent rumble of avalanche chutes.  

if rocks were razors
seemingly asleep
th mtn breaks bones. yet all th while providing food for its children
whom it loves so hard – bears and moose and goats and ravens and
insects and worms and wolves 

                lurk and fight and sleep and die
                in animal heaven.  death always 

but noticeable only
in th changing colours of th leaves 

                that descend
                as would a clouds of insects
                ovr a corpse

enter th’imprints of boots. imprints…but what are you seeking, skirting
along th’edges of meadows w/shy animal movements?  

a mtn rolls not forth as a sea, and therefore cannot communicate
through a submissive lull.  you think yr strange imprints in th ground
are a part of something, father?  

no more than a raindrop to a puddle, then.  youv gone too far, too far.
and now what you’ve run to – you run around.  still searching, talking
to the birds until th'end of time – making friends with a fat robin –
yes settler, long distance runner, yr chords do not resonate off th solid
rock.

                solitude is only
                a heart echo

father stone, who has draind me of all patience – what lies beneath
those cliffs that made you choose?  what did you feel – th’eagle’s
uplift, or th downward spiral of an earthworm?  you spoke less each
time you returnd.  but could you not just stay for winter too, when
you were just as cold.  

those great brown kings of the forest you befriendd – but where were
you king?  fotographing them like children at a bloc party, did they
finally commit you to their soil?  

perhaps you were king only on th highway, driving away. to an
unknown fear – two places, interchangeable like thumbs.  but how
could you chose nature.  was it words that alienated you?  did you get
that feeling that you were supposed to carry on?  maybe you still roam
those forests like a subject of deep nature.  

I remember being in th backyard w/you and I was too small
to see ovr th fence. but
I grew w/o any help, anticipation gripd me, and one day when I was tall
enough I peerd ovr th fence and it was just another empty yard.  so I
climbd th fence and stumbled through th yard
and came to a hedge

I looked over it, and again
an empty yard… and th’empty yards continued.  I stood in the middle
of a yard like a blonde girl in th middle of th’ocean

                soul swaying and threatening to drown and so
                they say I have attaind island status or at least
                am buoyd by an ivory anchor in th’eye of rolling
                nervousness – avoiding storms by scrambling below deck and
                avoiding heat by swimming w/whores

                and I get that feeling that I’m supposed to carry on 

time lost a perfect wonderwall and grew th knotted forest, piled those
rocks and charmd it all with th heil of eternity.  towering ovr other
mtns like a stone-face killer, yet stretching so beautifully upwards 

                w/horizontal bands of furrowd snow
                as tourists fotograph from
                th shoulder  

                                im pulled ovr highwayside, window rolld down,
                                behind an idling camper w/Alaska plates
                                and I can trace Katami’s temper in gusts
                                blowing down through th pines

th cold stone slopes stretch all th way home
my house/yr house/our house /empty house
muddy bootprints trudged across my body for near a decade.  Im trapd
beneath a landslide caused by a random footstep, and I have to get out.
even moses knew when the witching hour had arrived; when th
shadows bloom to th mtn we must go.

dare you?  then meet me in a meadow.  w/birds around th moon and
soldiers in th field, can you still not grasp love?  no – neither can I.  th
rugged imprint it leaves behind fills with rain and freezes, and with icy
feet I walk through accidents.  

I will find a piece of you there, upon those heights, and I will kill it ded.
when I lie face down on my wedding day I don’t want yr hand on my
shoulder, nor do I want your dirty ingrown nails cutting the umbilical
cords of my children.  please do not den in my mares any longer.  

ultimately
                you have ripd away life
                                                                and love
and replaced them w/a mtn  

                                                made me
                                                kill my
                                                rocky mtn high           

I have no pulse      th women are scared and dry       and th hills are dry
my eyes are red and dry
                                                I cannot shake you
                                                but I will find you
                                                and shake you to dust

# posted by hardyf : 16:27  0 comments