Last Rounds of Prophetic Insight, with the Porcupine Again

***Ongoing piece. See comment below.***  
***Last added: April 12***  
   
Jim: I’m back on the high bluff... where there is desert wind...  
And the crows... where there are always the crows...  
   
Circling with their watching...  
They return and roost on strange vantages...  
When these thoughts come out again...  
   
   
Porcupine: But you are in a hotel room with a view of mountains!  
Have they not already been climbed and conquered,  
So you used to say?  
   
   
Jim: There is nothing left to them...  
But the ploughing down into plains...  
For a smoother road, a better building...  
   
The mountains aren’t going back to the sea!  
The mountains are going back to space!  
   
The old snows clinging to those rocks up there...  
Are not needed for us to sit on and ponder...  
   
Rock cracked into the fluid of our energies!  
They’ll be turning the Earth into a spaceship!  
   
   
Porcupine: They really did a number on you!  
Yet still you have the need to keep talking,  
About all that has already been talked of.  
   
   
Jim: Different stages man, different liquids man...  
   
But still the same dryness to the throat...  
It’s always still there... underneath the activity...  
That tickle is coming again... it’s showing up...  
Bringing back the old thirsts...  
   
   
Porcupine: Oh how ordered we have become!  
How great that flesh in the bottle has replaced you!  
   
   
Jim: You good pal haven’t changed much either...  
Wherever I am... you’re still the same...  
   
   
Porcupine: Even at this house on a rocky place,  
This last trading-post on the route  
From civilization to wilderness.  
   
We always seem to meet at the frontiers.  
   
   
Jim: It’s still a rough n’ tough hotel...  
With all the wrong crowd...  
   
The crew-cabs rattle the way the horses used to snort...  
Still a little aggression hiding up the trail...  
   
   
Porcupine: We digress. As always.  
Anyway, what do you have to talk about today?  
   
   
Jim: The End of things... as usual...  
 
 
Porcupine: Always a charming topic.
So, what stirs the pot these days?
 
 
Jim: Ah!  I cannot Speak quite yet!
I’m still being watched...
 
The damned crows!
They keep swerving closer and closer...
Like I’m no longer hidden flesh...
But a shiny little trinket in the open...
 
I’ve lost the pulse and breath...
My red iron has become clear and clean...
I’ve become synthetic and precious!
 
 
Porcupine: Your lord of plumbing will claim you soon enough.
Containers of potential will always empty.
And the floods will come.
 
 
Jim: I’m already dropping my pen...
I’ve become the landscapes...
Nothing of salvation now...
Only limp and hopeless groping...
Of the endless spin...
 
I can’t grasp at the repetitiveness of it...
I thought after so long... after so many turns at it...
That I could have learned the trick to stop it...
 
But that’s all, that’s it...
This emotional... american free verse...
 
We’re all so languished in our daily rooms...
Looking to be so difficult...
In the way our muscles twist...
For that... tragic effect...
 
No!
 
What I say unto you today...
What I say that is the end of us...
 
The end of us humans...
Not war, viruses and resource problems...
 
What will be the End is our attitudes...
 
That old attitude...
 
“I’m not as destructive to the Earth,
 I’m not as destructive unto others,
 As big rich so-and-so over there,
 Therefore let me do as I do...
 
 Big rich so-and-so over there is using the Earth...
 For his advantage, for his road across the plains...
 If I don’t do the same, someone else will...
 The Earth will be paved over regardless...
 I might as well have a little fun...”
 
 
So archaic and allegorical...
Written so many times in books before...
A stern order for the schoolyard...
 
 
Porcupine: Well, surely there must be more to it than that?
How exactly will it all play out?
 
 
Jim: Well there surely won’t be much of a good taste...
Of soft sugars in peoples’ mouths...
 
The good times came...
And then the jaws...
The jaws out of nowhere...
They come clamping down...
 
Somewhere among all your automation...
Where once was a mile... is now just a blink...
It was there... that your eyes were led asleep...
That is when it snuck by...
 
It was something in our hunting...
We thought all the scary critters were cornered...
 
We built gentle pathways,
And let our arms sway to the summer winds...
And our minds were carried away...
 
All the complicated art and music...
That put us in those moods...
But it was in the realization...
That awful realization,
 
When you looked up into the night’s sky,
And saw in those stars fixed above,
 
The impossibility...
Of there never being a boundary...
 
Or, in the closing of your eyes...
That blackness of space which is your body...
So contained... yet so impossible to ever fully see...
 
You just walked along with it...
Your... walking-partner body...
 
It was in our feeble explanations...
The randomness of our single shapes...
We couldn’t explain it...
 
So we conjured up a rationality of divisible units...
 
It was here in the disappearing depths...
That the last predators lurk...
 
Space so small...
That even swift words have no power to defend!
 
If ye believe we are not sovereign...
If ye believe we are compositions,
Of small items placed together...
 
Those little monsters!
How we once joked of them!
How they were our games,
When we were learning
To stay put with each other...
 
Those little monsters!
Eating and swirling... joining and gaining...
Those monsters that brought us shape,
And the notion of continued transport...
Those are the monsters still in our closet...
 
When we were so giddy with control...
That brief moment of those years...
When a window was built in the walls...
The Earth that we roamed over...
 
There it was suddenly broken...
There it was a rifle crack in the woods...
When we made it into a passage...
And had to excuse ourselves momentarily,
From the room...
 
The timings and polite hidings...
 
Our numbers in all of their squabblings...
Our numbers in all of their combined hoist...
Crushed by an even greater majority...
 
 
Porcupine: This greater majority you speak of,
How can we make peace with such an enemy?
 
 
Jim: There is a clean smooth stillness...
A stillness not touched by the rotting sprawl...
 
You see it in the desert at the edges of night...
You see it in cactus thorn and scorpion shell...
A reflective and distinct sharpness...
 
There is a stillness to the shells...
There is a stillness as deep sky,
To the heavy sunkenesses...
 
A stillness to the jagged stones,
At the crumpled foots of mountain...
 
That space between God and the star systems...
That space between taking another sip,
And holding off forever...
 
[Pause]
   
---continued---