DON’T CARE IF I DO
Don’t care if I do don’t care if I don’t.
I’m letting go of the spinal cord
I’ve been hanging on to for years
to pull myself up over the edge of my mind
safe at last safe at last safe at last
to enjoy the view
like a man standing upright on a precipice
without a gnawing urge to jump.
One mile up is one mile down
and letting go
is my only way of hanging on.
Letting myself go over the cliff
will I revive from my annihilation like water?
Will daring say feathers and falling take flight
or will the lights just go out
before the movie begins
and I’m inconceivably not there to see it?
The abyss of my calling
is an intimately impersonal voice
that whispers of other dimensions
just under my skin
well within the comprehension of jumpers like me
who have fallen so long through the same blackhole
they’ve reversed directions
and now they’re falling up
as if a course correction
had been beamed up to Icarus
and now he were plunging into the sun like a spent satellite
sending little blips and beeps back
like illuminating details of his annihilation
not knowing if anyone is listening or not.
I’m so bright I’m blind.
Too much light can hurt the mind.
So I live by night and die by day
like stars that need a lot of darkness to shine.
I don’t struggle anymore to keep up with myself
like the shadow of an ambulance
because the darkness lasts longer than the radiance
and there’s a dark halo of comets
that rolls like the barrel
of a midnight special around the sun
that likes to play Russian roulette with its planets
but it takes lightyears after the gun goes off
for the bullet to strike home like a prophecy
that came true long long before
any of us were born
to see the light through our ears.
Don’t care if I do don’t care if I don’t
have a dark past or a bright future.
Now is enough of a mile
to keep me walking for awhile
whether I know where I’m going or not.
First you hurt from the exertion
of pushing yourself
like a rock up a hill
that keeps rolling back down upon you
like a stone over the entrance of the same tomb
that gave birth to you like luggage
in the locker of a bus-stop.
And then you give up.
You donate your rock
like a vital organ
or kissing stone
to some local Kaaba
and then join Amnesty International
to help indict
the genocidal asteroids
for past war crimes against the dinosaurs
forgetting that nuclear winter
was the sign of the times
that led to us.
A mammal’s just a reptile
that pulled one over on the rest
like a neo-cortex.
And if you go extinct?
you can always say
you did your best
and tomorrow’s a new day.
You could see it that way
but I don’t
because it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference
whether I’ve got a point of view
I’m as clueless as my name
about why things change to stay the same
as if first you’re born of fire
and then you’re born of water
and then the night cuts you free
of your spinal cord like a kite
or a snake
moving through the grass
like the eye of the needle
that’s just been threaded
by a forked tongue
that gets you into paradise
faster than greased lightning
can be feathered with light
and you catch sight of yourself
in an oxymoronic corner
of the black mind mirror
as if the lowest of things
had just been given the wings of a dragon
and there were the eggs of all your past lives
lying around like fat moons
you could live on like an eclipse forever
burying and exhuming the light
like the white doves of old loveletters
in the hands of a black magician
that doesn’t believe in superstition.