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Our Final Closing Number

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June 16, 2016 by Rivky Gee

 

 

Grossman_TheOtherSide_721

11. THE OTHER SIDE

It’s been pounding my skull.

A hammer clocked me unconscious

 

With perfect precision and aim.

I hear the Common Cuckoo

 

I never fully fathom
What these little feathers tweet.
Another feed, another blow
Dragging loudly in the street.
Chirping things I do not know
Offering nothing simply nothing
-But, something to excrete.
Now, inside the left socket
Of my right eye are
Peculiar letters coloring numbers, breaking.
Entertaining, liquid staining
Crimson gushing out Merlot
Flooding barrel, lashing lid, brimming, aching
Bulging deep in this Furrow.
Splashing down a blushing slope
Rapids catching 22, It clung
Rolling near a middle lip slit
A thunderous bursting river sprung
Trickling down a foaming thick spit
Tattooing, tipping my fleshy tongue.
T’was indeed, a catch 22 that hung.
Let’s have a fine wine, a delicate escape.
A bottle shock Cabernet
Of language uncultured, not yet fruitioned
By the sweetness of a placid concord grape
Not yet born of its fermented contrition.
Perhaps if never corked mature, in its foxy cape.
Looky there a chairy view, I must be blind
In our gourded drunken State.
Might we better be seated by the vine.
A bubbling stupor, a falling gate.
Catch’d now. 22 times.
Pounding my head with love and hate.

Oh Summer came in loudly,

oh.
Facing me.

Mirroring me.

Oh, what is it?

These days we’re inside of?

These nights inside of?

We’re inside these days and nights

Currently in the state of an affair with both of them.

 

For the love of us?

Humanity is it?

What are we in?

Why have we possessed such a nature?

 

 

For who?

For myself?

For you?

For the land we live in?

For the world we keep safely under our pillow?

 

 

Oh, but the feathers have all but blew

To the upward winds, with a sleight of wing

You can hear him sing,

He’s a catch, a 22,

Ticking, timeless, Common Cuckoo.

 

Another Carob Spring turns over

A sweet honey, be that as it come to May

I can already feel the warmth, sticky, oozing

From the hive.

Nesting in my ear.

Resting in the clear.

How clear is my head, really.

How clear is anyone’s, really.

To stop.

To question.

To wonder.

Am I being good enough today?

Bold enough today?

Should I be bad today?

Flip a coin.

It’s what’s popular.

Take a side.

Any side.

Don’t worry, Don’t be fooled.

They’re both right.

You’re safe on my side.

You’ll be protected.

From who? I don’t know.

Them bad ones. No, wait.

Them good ones.

Ah, I don’t know,

Just safe from harm.

 

Stay close…

Change is ‘A comin.

 

One people at a time.

One nation at a time.

One religion at a time.

One tradition at a time.

One country at a time.

One voyage at a time.

One evolution.

One revolution.

One universe.

One NEED at a time. One need…at a time.

One. Need.

It always does.

In a day, a month, a year,

A decade, a century, a millennium,

A myth, dynasty, a kingdom,

An inquisition, a coup d’etat, a revolt,

A crusade, a bomb, a weapon,

A war, a march, a movement.

 

Humanity.

Is.

Restless.

 

What will it be?

After the climactic, passionate fire

That burns in our breath.

That, which has held us steady

In our ecstatic dance onward.

 

What will it be, humanity?

That befalls us into our final closing slumber.

A catch 22.

Our final closing number.

 

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