There Is No Explanation for Any of This

by on May 18, 2009 :: 0 comments

The shirtsleeves
fell off my shirt,
and you burned my coattails like a matchbook cover,
and I was not happy about it,
but I was still standing
above the ocean, standing.

The moon reset
and stood silent before midnight
stood silent.
And I said my prayers
and fell off the face
of the Earth.

No explanation was offered
for any of this
and none would have been necessary,

but the desert next to the ocean melts
and becomes glass,
glass that you can dance upon,
and build houses with raindrops
where no explanation is necessary.

Sirens and horns
scream from centuries
we have not seen,
seasons that we have not worn.
Disciples do their best,
but they are no match for this:
the day dances upon
the endless night like the flame
upon a matchstick
that doesn’t exist.

And there is no explanation
for any of this.

Where should I begin,
again?
There is a song-storm
brewing without secrets,
seeing without the sun,
living without the night;
distant no-answer
of forever drinks from the fountain
at the center of the city
next to Martin Luther King
and John F. Kennedy.

Where am I standing?
Where is the forest?
Where is the blue angel
fish with the orange tail?

I stand next to the color of starlight
and HOPE.

The implications of this
are subtle
and they make me SCREAM.

There’s no explanation for any of this.
This is the purple fountain place
that stays close to the volcano,
this is the eye of the sandstorm,
there’s no explanation for any of this.
Painted upon darkness,
resolute but floating,
dying with direct intent,
and knowing why
and what for,
there is no explanation
for any of this.
But this is
what you hear
and it is here . . .

No explanation was offered
and none was necessary.

(1.30.09)

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