Confusion

save the paper in a vain attempt at reaching happiness, the simple stillness of summer vines on the brick wall, withering the green out of my soul and casting it a red brown stationary stare at a man i never knew. by age 17 i had lost myself a thousand times and found it all again or so i thought and now on the eve of 23 i am on the verge of bush, bra burning warrior women are my idols and Kerouacian nightmares of dead muskrats in a black bag all poured down a flight of dead Poe stares. the word play is too hard to resist and i don't think either literary figure would mind if i did so, the tempo is too hard to find, i'm complaining all the time about this that and the other innocuous thing that i have no control over the secret is to let it all go and refuse to remain in chains handed to me willingly gestured government spending and campaign financing attack adds on what he would have done as if it makes a difference now. the symbolism now is all lost on a future whose progress costs a cool billion, the cheapest road to perdition is littered with cardboard boxes holding men in their place in the gutter, the Baltimore sunder and traces of thunder lightning up the purple sky, the Inner Harbor wrenching dead fish from its belly and burping them up to the surface for all of us to smell and we walk right on by the Occupiers living in the past where protest might have mattered but now it is beyond any reckoning of Latter Dei saints and their mothers, Mary was a revolutionary and lied to Jesus telling him he was the Messiah so that she could overthrow the dictatorship, the irony being of course that her Son left her in subjection, women relegated to starboard staring into the listless flatlined horizon, white sky on slate sea that seems to stay the same and only we are are moving more arduously each day begging for a gull watch, a life wring taut us in a plebeian memory of guilt.