Watching home videos
Of wizards and words
Where momma could kill ya with a single snakebite
And the images keep swimming back,
As I leave the TV with rabbit ears, chopping within channel five, spasm between seconds, and dialogue broken up like a weird anti fold song, and we
Switch to a man with long black hair and chicken fat
Hooked up by a cable with one red end, one blue end, and one yellow end, hooked through the in and out holes
Breathing from a old taped videohandy cam recording,
Just spinning and playing to a small twenty seated crowd, gathered in red, black and yellow,
Opening and slamming shut, "that poison" keeps bringing back to dust faster than ever." Again. Again too much
With W D Forty, too lose, too alive and "too careful."
But either way like I'z a kid again like the Words in October. . .
Proud to leave on my own rain boots, where everyone asks secrets and the tv screen people warm ya a little, a little comfort, a little reason and maybe even a little sanity.
And I go. That I'd go. And either way, rain, snow or sleet, icy demon holding ons, clinging on, smoked filled breaths, nevertheless, the doors will keep swinging open, sometimes by the wind, others because I pushed them and sometimes because she drunkenly tripped into them, smashing a toe. . . but either way sometimes they open.
Sometimes by the wind, watching over the next home keepers and as I imagine this, and I'm gone, up to the cold and Nor-easter yelling, up to the cold, and the haunting of the wolf's whisper, and the bears rummaging, and the snows burryings. . .
carrying water and chopping wood. . .carrying water and chopping wood, as the artist from Austin kept annoyingly repeating over and over and over, over, over and over and over again. . .did ya get it. . .
"Shedding that dead old skin yet." Carrying water and chopping wood.
Watching those images and those memoirs of chopping water and carrying wood and watching them images as we, "shoot the shoot." Passed nine on a fiera, a non observable fest, when we can't be charged.