to dream dying resurrected

I love America the vast fetid lubricious fecundity of it. Not apple pie, Gee Wiz Washington, the Flag. But the all of it. Hip Hop Rock n Roll Aaron Copland of it.

Love Boat being not a ship phantasmagorical lustful, or lost souls seeking sanctuary a la escaping Nazi Germany denied but a swan shaped floating conveyance meandering through a carnival darkness with James Michener groping his princess/Empress/Goddess who groped back giggling splashing her rucked clothes.

I love the hurdy gurdy suck and draw harmonica knee smashing cymbal/symbols doing the step and fetch it of it all: Camptown Races do da do da all the day long.

God Damn America the politicians, preachers, priests, teachers, Popes, the Presidents one and all of them save Abe. Good Golly Miss Molly I'm an Goddamned American too.

I am an emigrant tenant non resident fallen into the mud puddle muddle of it all and my soul ain't no white bread Wonder or Silver Cup crap slathered with fluffernutter. Tentative no longer wild child river rat from Ripley Ohio whose soul ran away with the traveling tent carnival circus sailing full and by down the Ohio down the Mississippi out onto the Gulf of Mexico and thence infinity all growed up. Going home. Read my lips, lick my library card, grab your ass with both hands and kiss it goodbye conformity of it.

On and on i could go but the subtext is: please dear God never ask me to read aloud 1 CORINTHIANS 13 ever again . . . next time I'll fall down and dissolve up in a puff evaporated nothing left but a wisp.

amen

130430 08:12 MDT to dream dying resurrected

© 2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved