More on being a branch

5/15/2021 off an old tree

 The World: a dead tree in the cemetery
“Will speak our speech and never know,” -
Wallace Stevens, Postcard from the Volcano
Con/Jur/d, 5/14/15

I’ve habituated myself again
reliant on the Ancestors,
don’t see, the World,

unborn, immobile, always present
unmade, moving, ending, beginning

I didn’t like my ancestors much,
some of them I loved to a fault,
shifting to accommodate beetles
boring without compunction into
our flesh, into our trunk, cutting
through the rings, mechanically.

Adopting the rage for transparency --
they didn’t like me much either,
agrarian roots forming certain
expectations on how we would
blossom, how copulation and
pollination was essentially the
same, although less suggestive
than pistons,

pumping, pumping, pumping

lay minister, fun hating, angry,
angry, Grandfather an avid
trainspotter was quick
with a belt,
forced

by creeping liberal values
to adopt, becoming quick
with soap, water and 
and mouth,

forcing one to swish, swish
going on and on and on
about his sociopathic
god, his holy pain
inducing,

name, name, name

by which he said,
now as clear as these clouds
threatening rain, behind the dead
tree and its wind fractured branch
rising above spoiled white, granite
grey headstones, he missed
the language of long
distances, the
frontiers

of belonging, a mystery
connecting us all, a rhythmic
Hypnotic bass beat  cutting 
thru  our liminal horizons

chug, chug, a chug

Woooo Hoooo!
“According to family legend, some of our forebears lived in places like this or at least paid them fealty. It’s good to remember some of your ancestors were probably sociopaths by today’s standards, and before the great neutering, the highest cultural act was survival and reproduction. All of your forebears fornicated, if they didn’t have sex, you would not be here”
“I was lied to, I failed my seer test, yet again. This has barely anything to do with trains, and these castles were damn uncomfortable, although we can get used to anything, and it’s better than starving, so we ‘voluntarily’ accept the collar, the brand, the blood on our hands, because it’s better to be in the castle, than below. Besides, the selfies look better from up there.”

“Like the Tarot, if you look at the last 2 images, keeping an awareness of The Tree as one possible subterranean story construction, what does this layout say?”

Well, y’all, hopefully, this arrives in your mailbox as we’re heading up to the Adirondacks to stay in The Old Moose Lodge. The last time we stayed there, we found a note and a key at the front desk when we arrived. It is a deeply surreal experience to enter an old hotel, whose history dates back to the Robber Barons and the Rockefellers and not see another living soul. Very 217/237, and worth repeating. Hope you're enjoying your Saturday!

Con/Jur/D, 5/14/2021