flat flat everywhere is flat and round beneath the earth I see rising in dust clouds dirt like rain and a pillar of ripped ragged roots Walking isn’t enough can’t get there fast enough the rendezvous point the place where the dark man waits He is on the move now coming here and passing While I walked through town meeting Lily who is not Ciara who I miss and want to see to feel the life that courses surges grows and plants its roots in me before all this dust I’m made of goes fallow and can no longer produce Will they turn me under I have to wonder if I’m being buried in salted earth and left Is the chaff my flesh my skin my life of nothing my monument a pyramid of beer cans The softest bed I can assume and hope for might very well be the satin lining of a casket or the cheap carpet of a Honda trunk

“You can lie down here. I’ll get some pillows. God, I wonder if he’s in shock. What do I think I’m doing here, anyway. God. Less than a week and I’m bringing home strays…”

they say the stoned are philosophers if only to themselves and while I never had a monumental thought while pulling on a tube now I feel the filters and the limits slide away and desperation isn’t worth my time so all that’s left is intellect and id Hunger drives my forward motion my ambulation my trek across this flatness All that remains of my education and curiosity is a faintly glowing ember seeking to kindle an inferno of knowledge about the nature of death Left to wonder if this end is already attained in my current state I have to clutch for some evidence that the husk I inhabit is part of who I am Consumption isn’t something I desire in this state mentally Hunger wracks this shape and distracts my contemplation of my state Feeling like an extra in a Coleridge poem I have to wonder if any of you are looking for the marginalia like me Grafitti might be the closest we can get or maybe advertising

“Is there anyone we can contact? I wonder. A wallet? Nothing. Probably stolen. God, how long have you been walking around like this? How long have you been alone out there?”

no one could share this space or sense but so many assumptions through so many scriptures and yet I am alone or growing ever closer to that state Only status unifies us but no correspondence crosses these boundaries of darkness surrounding the flicker remaining that might be Buck myself meness I Who could hope to cross into this blinding focal pinprick of light that stretches when veiwed sidelong into a rod or perhaps a tightly tuned wire on which the rest of self balances precariously Friend means nothing now it is emotion all I know is discernment not even knowledge Facts extraneous clarity distractions Light switches red a filter remains and I can see a face I wish to see again who might reshape reclaim rebuild what’s melted

“Tim? Is that the name?” A sob. “Yes… yes, press the buttons. Call Tim…. Yes. I’ll do the talking. No need for you to worry.”