“don’t leave the room!!!”, he said.  i did… so it goes

prelude:              
               
“don’t leave the room!!!”, he said.  i did…and so it goes on my backwards horse,  a bad juggling broken heart jester ride-weaving in and out of love's falling  green-leaving brown wrinkling crushed and crinkled leaving leaves taking shot after shot of my aged barrel soaked 100 proof fermented tears, a cloven hooved beast smiles from me entrails, tail to snout as i wander the hallowed lawns of mr. jefferson's university waiting for the savior to appear, tripping round the rotunda, main lining the white straight and narrow path of enlightenment patrolled by the shadow of corinthian order that frames the logic of this place, till down the slopping quad i find blind homer sitting in naked statue glory be to his stories, regaling a streamlined group of guitar-lyre strumming youth with tales of caged and escaped lions on the deep sea eating all the sailors in the tempest of a god tossed storm, the blood soaked deck drying in the beating whip of the sun's lashing heat, wonders what homer's third eye divines behind the  false eyelash veil of the free, then why is she stripping to pay for it, thinking, sold in this chop shop  of dismembered and reassembled frankenstein truths , pretending it's what it's snot snotty nosed my shyte don't stink and if it does i'll make you pay to smell it and leave you holding the bag future financier frat boy bmw holes from the asses of the privileged they think iyam to be here, on this elevated place of learning, but the ooze from my swampy southern fried pig feet laced with pcp smoke the crack rock lsd transvestites on the corner turning  suck it out 20 dollar trixies for smoke it in methy fixies if ya know what i mean save me jesus and hallelujah nascar still finger licking sticks to the ribs of my dark meat light meat lovers marinade, these words ramble scrambling free range from my, will get cut off one day anyway head, so lets rumpus wild thing running our asses into the dust now to live and tell the tale exhausted, i drop to the panting ground heave breathing on my back in the shifting shadows of the spiraling branch-blooming tree above my head, eyes angled just so to the fire in the south to tiger shark sense in the sea of air the subtle wind-trembling, like a golden prairie of a thousand concubines swaying in wait, tiny blond hairs on the fire burnished spread legged sunning thighs of the girls on the green, i swear blind homer got decidedly firm in his loins with my lusty amusings, when the tree of my shady refuge, an oak now cannon blasting from the earth like a middle finger to  the laws of physics, rapid and upward charging, a twisting undulating octopus of bark river liquid branching arms , a chaos of medusa serpent roots surging through the lawn like a thousand  earthquake snakes, a spiraling side-winding galaxy of destruction of all things man, the rotunda cracks, splinters in black-line veined signs of the apocalyptic white hole gravity of logics demise, the ordered columns disordering, a  collapsing phalanx of  granite soldiers swallowed in an orgy of dirt and worm and sprit-bone warrior yelps, blown to oblivion by sonic boom echo of the hard drumming rythms of the first peoples to story this ground in the painted song and dance of their deaths, the long earned smooth rolling blue ridge, again envelopes the view, this holy of holiest spots, these  most ancient of mounds, once the earth's highest sky kissing snow shimmering peaks,  the mighty world oak now a cloud entwined  vine, it's pumpkin seed acorns turning to grape and wine bursting the purple sky with red showers of  tears, the regret and renewal of all years gone and to come from the beginning to the end form the beginning to the end forever and ever amen flood my mind, drink it all in my friend, my friend who then appears above me smiling, done for now with the demands of dissecting dead things to name their living functions, b'cause our dionysian day dream boy appears to be a simple, move to the warm light creature, in peaceful repose lying on the field of a sunny day, ready now to beat it for the upper rocks to get drunk on an old friends remembrance of days when their fallen bodies took to light and howl at the fat yellow belly moon as if, for it always is, the last howl you'll ever make, but that wily devil had spirits on his side, led i to a locked door outside a big box that opened with a plastic sliding key, i won’t go inside, it is for the hills i cry said i but there was whisky so i let it roll and its all his fault to this very day, we sampled some cider brew then took a ride among old trees and stones that read this is where they bury the dead…  and so it goes……              
               
the town:              
               
though the guitars and drums did boom-bloom for a brief foot stomping encore while we drank beer and the fiddlers played the devil never made it down to georgia or virgina, this roman disneyland of uva  did not burn, tj, the slave holding american  declarer of free is still deified in the history of false idols and nero had been dead for two thousand years so we left the plebian mall of baseball caps and coeds, to be eaten by the dark night in the woods, this was the plan of our salvation, and the knighted yellow moon led us to the tree and we were happy, an intoxicated joyous miracle to resurrect from the leaves a crumb of lost contraband, our holy grail in hand, our fairytale trail and crooked path home seemd assured,  we rolled through the woods back to the town until meeting a lying wolf spirit, aren’t they all, an unintelligible bearded drunkard who by rights should not have been able to stand but did and stood a babbling guard over the barefoot club nymph’s shoes, reported to have syphilis by her jealous suitor, the nymph not the shoes, (which i would have gladly caught),  and who whirled by blond hair whipping like a kites tail and was swallowed by a cab’s opened door branches, and then wheeee… whoa.. left, crash, right, crash, pedaled, many close deaths,  got it.. learning to ride our two-wheeled donkeys again for the third time that night, wobbly we trolled on only to have a dark beauty in a green dress , “the temptress of thievery” my friend later said, though i forgive and love her still,  steal from this thief (the lighter and lone smoke abandoned on the bar above the stool) that was mine to rightfully claim because as peter the proprietor sage broke like a record “it’s all 50/50” and other beguiling mysticisms, forgotten hucksterisms, and/or was it "get the fuck out of my bar or i'm calling the cops" did he say, until finally returning whence we came, i realized we were not on the holy mountain top, the city light obscured the stars, there would be no howling at the moon, my loss would be jailed again for the night, and my friend  was leading me  though a locked door outside a big brick box that opened with a plastic sliding key , i will not go inside it is for the hills i cry said i but there was whisky so i let it roll and its all his fault to this very day, we sampled some cider brew then took a ride among old trees and stones that read this is where they bury the dead… “Don’t leave the room!!!”, he said.  i did…so it goes……              
               
the upshot:                
               
there were no hookers, no blow                
nobody got shot                
no gulps of vodka                
from the homeless man’s brown-bag  *              
after getting tossed from the bar                
nothing to impress the                
rock n rollers                
               
pissing off the stoop                
on the manicured bushes                  
was more drunken impoliteness                
than conscious rebellion                
               
but –                
               
i am a legend in philosophy circles                
because my underwear was blue                
and it was all I had on                
at 3:13 am – 37 degrees                
in the middle of the road                
talking to a police                
not convincing him                
not to arrest me                
but o so happy he put                
me in that warm car                
                                    
               
*  that’s another story