tom taylor

D’talks the robe of sadness a hole in the wall affords no view the fire in the gut a fathom of density you don’t resemble from the outer claims of your attentive posture in the skin of the day, it’s a hazard of small partitions sad anthemic songs from the radio the rope of sadness knotted inside time’s narrowing flight forward from sign it says remember not but slim her sailing yes and know the long ride home is still an accelerant on the face of things as they are the porridge of dissatisfaction acclaimed by many honored by few from where you came from no names were admitted onto the floor for discussion or a faience clambers overside the light blinding your muted tongue was the undoing of everything….

Your namesake moans into the room from where he was some time ago take out fools are the day’s recall some tine and fop attune nix poster plume scrim flatly dancing from the waste down the road’s unwinding spume and flatter. The room encoded for heat. Here ice calms the floor from smoothly ridden ponies at the gate, stomping and lowing like cattle on the way out, a sad dog in the newspaper somebody dropped off at the pound, less than humane but all too familiar, the troops crashing into each other in their hurry to leave the scene of their crimes against humility, just following orders, the orders of the day, the elephants in line each one hanging onto the tail of the one before and tugging on the one after, the old satanic secretary wandering the halls of unjustice notebook in hand pockets lines with the billions of our monstrous debt….

No, I’m not amused either saddened by the hopeless wander of the soul’s dimensions on this plane of doubt, undone by the measure of the sin committed allowances for error do not obtain but foal aside the woe of man’s undoing on the sign of the times – absent – says you name all wrong, even spells the simpler words as if the language were from another planet in retrograde sighs apart from a certain unwillingness to breathe the tainted air and psalm against the growing tides ever upward slowly washing your hands off the wall and onto the gene pool slimming red wine calls the heart a stronger moon than you’d decided wise enough for the fruit flies in their jar on the shelf of the laboratory, baboon hearts on the operating table, stapled stomachs for the teen aged mesomorphs declining aid from all but the knife….

Smile, you said, it’s candied camera making us all look just a little better than we ought, but seeing age’s wrinkle on the screen, tammy faye all wrinkled and sad in the last seconds of her moment on the world’s screen as Charlie rose into the air inside the big shoulders of his prison striped suit against the medium range muscle that shot him down another apologist for the devil in his do-rag penitentiary rooms unpadded stainless steel pottie your food through a slot in the door what else is new? They said you’d have to pay for this even without a scent in the bank of life apart from patchouli screen and tong the flavor of the way ahead is the unparted seas not claiming your faith for a passage through the towers on the thirty foot wall bristling with guns and buns in all directions the children in the dark and dank passageways stained by the urine from the soldiers high on their wall of seam and sigh….

This is the hour of which we spoke so long ago the faces are blurred and distant from all who might have known our time not remembered but laid aside like an afterthought…
You dream the dreams of a man on the run with nowhere to go in the maze of strife….