Last Iliad; Last Rant

Last Iliad; Last Rant

If you're there?
Disregard my rant,

If you're not;
Allow me release,

for you aren't here to cushion your ears anyways-

{{plugging canal while tonguing a childish ode such as lalalalalallala~
I believe you must know the one-you have sisters, and must have driven on roadtrips as a child right?}}

so,
seeing as I am here, alone,

yet again,
allow me rant.

You've left me again,
yes- all, (please hold your applaus, your boo's too)

that final left after the last right;
Was taken.

That same old sad story of one bereft left behind
while the other has gone-

rides off into warm banana yellow sunshine-
on donkeys, camels, or is it horses back? Or no-
he flew away on a jet plane, that was it!

While I'm left walking the arching rusted lines of traintracks,
sitting in 24 hr. laundromats-

watching time stand still, jump back, skip forward, hopscotch
of universal feat,

rainbow numbers & chalk-lines.

Watching clean wet clothes of an unknown life
(mine washed gone)

tumble dry all night long,
in a vortex of hot and cold

when once they're dry- a stranger folds them for me-
stacked neat,

for two dollars more. I tip her ten.
I wear the clothes that shrunk two sizes small vertically,
and stretched two sizes too big horizontally-

This scent is not me,
tide is no life- not real,

just artificially created to make us feel fresh and soft and clean,
and civilized,

but are we really, or is that just the tide?

Dream vision, I fall asleep on lumpy broken held together with duct tape chair-
white walled bones-

inside the whale that ate me whole.
cold shuffle of rubbery flesh-

that tastes my sour bitter sweet life-
what a meal of contradictory flavour I am.

How tackily-
over -done.

I am filleted,
in straight lines,
against my grain;

To keep me intact,
Held together,
long enough to devour.

My dreams are the grissle,
that the life of the one thing bigger than I-
ate and spat out.

I ate the peach,
once I was free,
(after this death)

and it did not taste so sweet,
after being eaten by the whale in me,

it's golden nectar, it's fuzzy globe-

was the one thing I craved while imprisoned on that chair,
now is half rot-

waited too long-
in clothes too big-
too small,

on a rusty train track to nowhere,
that started here,
and ended there,
where- the midpoint was-
nowhere.

I am the one thing bigger than me,
that I ate up and spat out,

I know now.

You are the one thing real, that I forgot to forget.
That cannot be found,

as I am bound,
wound round and round

(dead end road- with sarcastic road signs like cemetary lane -dead end written in yellow)

claim of infinity by pen and by pad my childlike cape made of pajama pants,
by friends that I thought I had,

a cold shoulder society that shames me,
a false marriage that blames me,

and a love that bled me red;

And may very well have left me now,
for dead-

like a summer rose afflicted by the fall,
but I may be,

soon returning-
ressurected, alone in the snow.

So now you know-
you now,
can just go on,
and go-

for see
I'll soon forget...

That's a lie,
a bluff-

no I won't.

But see
you-

will soon have forgot-
Eyes closed tight,

I will be the snow
muting surround you-

a de ja vou,
a semblance of a strange golden world-

make believe, pastel, oil paint, charcoal, crayon
and spray-

over this canvas,
sky high

that was once ours-

now white washed cracked
cold.