Debellatio

[DiggerTractor]

Hello Howard, I really appreciate you taking the time, to stop by and read and comment. Thank you.
Donner, you're such a positive force! I enjoy hearing your connections to the writings you comment on and Arlene, thank you for being very supportive...I didn't quite make it but I enjoyed the return after so many years. And, are you referring to the first magic man? I was not meaning for it to be creepy, I'm curious to hear more about that. Have a good one.!

[DiggerTractor]

It is over
more would be too much
yes? He nods.

[M]

What a fitting, double meaning wrap up.

[DiggerTractor]

Thanks for noticing M. I kept trying to write something to sum it up in some way, but everything kept very towards being so "heavy" and I just didn't want to go there anymore...and then this was given to me by the minor poet gods...

[DiggerTractor]

After thoughts

Before Winter of 15, there a nice fall. Above the orchard: our baked skin
and your waxed vagina, having birthed two children, but not mine. Oozing
just enough to glint in the sun. But you are leaving. The coonhound
is on the hunt, baying for us to come, it'd be deer though, she chases. Decoys
lead her from the fawns. The bucks run along the edge along hidden trails
and then there gone. We know they're there, but they blend in and fade away
from us. The hound still hunts, not realizing they're gone. The scent she's follows
is only seconds old, but may as well be that of a dinosaur-extinct from this time.

The highway runs along the river that cut the canyon and the cars, headlights barely
being able to stay ahead to do their job, race below the bigmmesa, where protected
mustangs run wild. She comes towards me and a coal train blows in the night air
and by schedule an Amtrak will follow soon. For now, we are in a magic place
the Milky Way above, the eyes of the gods watching, the moon sweeping the sky clean
of riffraff.

We pledged we never lied or pretended to feel what we felt. Your bare ass and the cream
of your skin, and pure scent of being connected. The drivers in the cars trying to stay
awake before the next stop-persevering knowing someone was waiting just up, children
dreaming car dreams: flying carpets through reality. And we finish And we promised
we'd be like this under stars with eternity between us. A step to the left or to the right
and we'd be on cactus. But if we could be motionless, we'd be forever. Even the stars
don't go on forever. They pop and bubble and die while we feel nothing of their losses.
Wishes like ours mean another star would have died in vain. Left behind, you recall
the cactus prick only, when we walked back along the trail to sleep. Forever and ever
stars seem to live on and on, telescopes search the abyss and claim there a boundary.

II

Debellatio I

It's gone. As the smoke clears and six years have gone
by. Days are crammed into monthly war calendars and shifted
of screen. No one will be left to remember them. The smiles
in photos stretch on--dead people always seem more interesting
to be around than the living. A glance or a smirk atomically arrested
in time. Remember when we went for Easter. After the desolation
everything is absorbed into the past. No victors will even need to write
a revision of history because if no one is left to convince no one will need
this History anymore. A found photo is a curiosity sold as a trinket to a boy
in the future. Vintage and dusty lamps: he'll find it with the postcards sent
to no one. I guess they just like the photo he'll think. But the photo of the woman
she's smiling and hugging the silly man who's smiling also-caught in a snapshot.
But it wasn't real. It was a moment different than those coming before
and after. Bitcoins can buy the ancient representation of happiness. It' nothing
now and extinct a long ago place and time. That landmark they're standing next to
still exists. But they don't exist anymore two people from a long ago time
and place. To remember: it would disrupt reality. As a curiosity for the detached
it's cute. He is too young to know he's buying an ideal of love. Architecturally founded
on a myth. The boy buying the photo thinks the woman should be named Helen
and the man he shall call Paris. What a silly boy, the purchaser of fairy tales.

Debellatio II

Is the disappearance o everything that is there, every moment, every future
of me, of her and of us. It's not just the destruction of one. All will be different
and the sea will craft the coral and sands. The divot where you lain will fill in
and nothing will be the same. From something there is nothing and we feel pain
when we know it. Because for the moment, the pain doesn't exist. It only exists
if knowing you will crack a blossom from your head. The son will create the bullet
so see you sleep over on the side of the road, protected from passing kicks

At the new house, the front steps are too small for a porch. It's only two steps to rise
from ground level-one foot and some inches-to protect the house from floods. Two names
are written in the cement and fill with water when it rains because there's no room
for a covered patio.