Tuesday, October 2, 2012



L. Edgar Otto   02 October, 2012

Since my mind's eye awakened to the kaleidoscope of vivid colours in the world in a dance of balanced variegated stars
the natural world rendered figures on that flag with simple ground stands out, is focus to the detail, a child past the hour with ease to draw faces true, savants x-ray the sinews of the eagle, flexing wings, feathers aileron,  owl panoramas

A lifetime learning what really is in the depth of spin of cubes that nothing of local pigments, sewn dress, history in exaggerated tourist blends of light and dabs of camel hair that fools the eyes to distinguish, suggest what a flower, polarized, negative index of refraction, bilateral with six hands to guide six eyes, mud left a cage of gaudy grey greys

I did not feel the passing of red head negative not my blood as with Gorgeous George of my own flesh save earth lighter as all things at a distance made whole again by those who torture, pull the wings off flies, alarmist with fraud and rumors in dialog with themselves at the edge of night starkly drawn all waters fresh again in the steeper spawn spent driven on

She who pulled the plug tells herself she loved him and gave the potions in slow release toxic mix harvesting his germ passing the nector on to her selfish gene line her thick wines addict him wounded by dreams all have at  love's beginnings longing for distant shores returned to home before bed ridden inevitable clock fall to broken bones, stale stink water

Who was Minnie Bell, white washed married out of the tribe asks her descendants, roles and records, birth and death noted in the baby's books and newspapers, buried in the courthouse along with her dreams and stories passed on or lived beside her, bear cubs cuddled, the mother at the cabin door, Uncle Joe Hooker chasing it away armed with a spade

In the immortal but transparent invisibility our spirits alone the reality, the rise or sinking into the virtual world beyond eyes I imagine a funeral where that thought not said at the funeral time where we fear the lingering ghost, not speak ill
A Farmville where we bury or cremate our ex lovers or as if to give our pets a send off with spectrum robes, jazz bands

For a few real dollars more there buy a plot personalized that in the endless marbled well kept lawn we allot them a place in hell, lesser gods we unforgiven send spears and rains of fire to torture them more than can eternity, pull their wings
Women after the war bury their own fallen soldiers in Hollywood, step grandma Pierce, her picture of her lover

Shows it too me as his life is remembered, untested, unblemished her love ever defined and unreal in this life time
her rocking chair and spittoon in the middle of the night her
far away fading delayed but abrupt surprise that night when the guitar string broke and no one near and for awhile  rocking on its own thirsty gathering flowers, her bare ground

I lost awhile on the shores of the river James find the pine boxes showing thru the mud and old forgotten bones here and there sticking out dissolving by hungry things in the estuary yet my own journey hard seemed so long and now
I am but a cherub in a sheltered nook weathered a hundred years its sand stone touched explodes in a bubble of dust

The coffin made of glass moved of the iconic statesman that the workman's hammer dropped cracks that for all to see so too the powder blown and the cosmetic skin burnt its umber
As if we can defeat by belief in it the fall after the summer or deny it affirmed in acceptance the way of things consoled that all returns again past and present branches one or two way

In the pablum and the quarky breast cling and craving the Milky whey the mother chases the child's fears and spiders
if we survive the formality of bonds, inherited and foster as all that strives to loop out to fill a world in terms of ones own
if we survive such separation strong over hidden emptiness
in the myths of living, in lies, of hopes in star colored skies

The thin cable umbilical contains and computes the history of the dance, by chance and choreography in the solving of impossible equations meaning-free and meaningless and yet
I cannot reckon the hour or the flow of sand, grains stuck sometimes in the falling gravity imperfect evolving design
Nor why I persist on my watch in freedom with responsibility

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