Thursday, September 9, 2010

rush by you


On the falling elevator trapped as the sixty-one floors blink. Like eyes in sequence, each possible resting place whipping by.


Faster and faster, one after the other, Hello. Goodbye, my friends, yesterday we were talking, today we die.

In our sleep, with the stars falling, surely it is the stars. In waterfalls of sparks, ribbons of light descending.






With tennis racquets, Bibles, cars, violets, young men wearing hats. Ski lifts in winter, The New York Times, the Funnies.


All the intense conversations that will never end, Your photograph on my wall, mine tucked in your billfold,


ph: wildfox


Do you know what you look like? Not now you don't, Maybe one second ago you did, but the bit and pieces of yesterday.


Are piling up, pushing (some even going on ahead), There's Mother, there's Father, there's Edward from the first grade.


ph: william eggleston




And Beethoven's Ninth, and the Bach B Minor, each chord. Turns into a glissando, clusters of fireworks flying.


With curses, cats wailing, the whine of the big guns. And desperate bombs going off, the little pot bellies.






Of starved children, presidents, old beggars, vice-presidents, Every newspaper headline, every last quarrel.


We ever had, each hangover, each miraculous glass. Of the deep bourbon of love, even the pure silence of prayer.






Is pouring past us like rain, like a blizzard of hard rice. Sliding by, sliding by, polished smooth as the ground.


Each of us thinks he is standing on, certainly I do. Content, watching the world go by but suddenly.


The bottom drops out, the stomach crazily catapults. Past the toes, the feet, the head follows, mountains.






Exchange places with the back yard, even your face Revolves in the sky, it's the Big Dipper, upside down.


ph: knj




The wind roars in our ears, in the dizzy whirl of the blood. There's no turning back, on parallel tracks shooting.


From the cliff of our birth we keep falling,
First you, then me, then me rushing by you.









-"what rushes by us" by: patricia goedicke.



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