Saturday, October 25, 2014

Fire (a few lines from the first part of 'Cavanaugh, Perkalev, and Me')

Jesse S. Mitchell

And down the road came a great billowing fire, encased in frozen steel, folded over metal, light twisted aluminum, ready to explode but held in delirious suspension.  Eating gasoline, pure petrol licks of flame, internally combusting away, dragon blaze inferno, coughing stones, and dirt clods, and clouds of black black inky smoke, the soot drenched sky behind drifting away faster that the tiny deteriorating-dying string thin seconds, time so weak it barely was perceptible at all.
And the innocence of naivety, the naivety of innocence, the brain-dreams floating in the super-heated updrafts of our minds, frayed singed bits of mental paper  escaping fire, that the serpentine asphalt that unwound below our rubber tires ate whole with unhinged jaws, swallowed down, totally reptilian.
Saying prayers.
Saying prayers, vulgar vulgar profane prayers of lascivious moments most lewd, moments when the soul and body become unglued, the disembodied joy of self-defacing self-destruction, youthful roaring in the wilderness, prophetic moments of humanness to come, reaching deep and pulling back, filling up the vessel with lusty mercy for the conscientious and sensible life to come.
Listening, intently, listening, hearing inside our chests, our heroic swollen hearts, hustling for the blood pumping through our veins, pumping rapidly, metrically, the music of exhilaration.        

No comments:

Post a Comment