Destinations Considered

03 Dec


Destinations Considered


A man who remembers acid well

——- asked me for the color of the nerve

——- the true sound of the writhing soul

——- and directions to the heart

——- by way of the C train.

——- He told me that he left a girl there

——- back in 1973

——- and now was old enough to know regret.

——- I told him where to go

——- and he stumbled off

——- I wished him luck I knew he wouldn’t have.

——- Later, at a nearby bar, drinking

——- I couldn’t really see myself the same

——- since I generally go in for subversion

——- not sincerity. Well, at least less often.

——- Usually more like Marcion or De Sade

——- than Apollonius or Blake.

——- Sometimes. Maybe. Now take that drink,

——- and forget about it.

——- You didn’t leave a woman waiting,

——- and you probably never will

——- ask the same directions from a vulgar youth;

——- virtuous desperation over fescennine heathenism.

——- Seems like no choice at all.

——=But that’s as it always is.

——- Seems like only bourbon and appositeness.

——- We all get to where we’re going,

——- by the uptown C or by the ashen wind,

——- as long as we remember the decease that brought us there.


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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