a night like this: the cure

what lack of light there may be in the greatest depths of the forest trees where the footsteps slow & the ground swells soggy, muddy, moss-ridden & smelling of an absence of feeling & nothing but grinding nature pulling another one down into the cracks of the earth to devour the very “essence” of which one thought they once held so dear---pitch-black like the pine tar all over the body stuck in the primate hair reminding that everything is a mistake and the older you get the slipperier the slope until the rock finally comes plummeting down with such veracity that the strongest sisyphus cannot withstand the weight as it flattens one out like a sheet of rolled out play-doh like something out of a cartoon, like something you didn’t think would happen this night (but deep inside, we all know that it is coming)---tapping the vein & waiting for the rush, watching the screens & waiting for the eyes to flush out but the desensitized mechanized american does not shift from the staring contest with big brother in the celluloid, s/he watches without a blinking eye, lost in the epic burning of a 1000 suns gone out with one blow of the candle, with one dying flower, with one more alley death, with one stillborn, with one bullet to the head in the war zone, with one secret passageway to a realm that one never wanted to visit in the first place---nebulous masterings, shadows & crepuscular whispered nothings which come into focus as one walks deeper in---and from this there is no return---the frank nature of this affect does not knock politely on your door in the morning, asking you if it is a good time for you.