no history

i was wild in imagining i raised myself under that dark roof turning no pages avoiding talks only watching the second hand move a feral child socially retarded shrinking from touch until i was nineteen i now wonder about that jar which held what was taken the heads of seven cats and heavy thoughts pressing another life away hissing like an iron slapped down upon a moist pant as i wait shivering for that bus the treasure marked with red x shrinking down my street hissing like her breath pushed by that thrumming rented machine which trickles those last few thoughts into my mother as i watch the fading rest in our garden wetting her lip s cracked prayer until my failure wakes frantic to rescue salvation i wave off the funeral posturing and never roll the rock aside as if i have no history as i have no mother sending me off to school the sentence always has structure yes even i learned that sleeping in my ignorance and while we do not need to write our lives someone always takes notes for the rest even if there s no heaven or hell or someone to care as such leaving for their class i m not going to go to live forever or chip rock or push it because i have no history beyond this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil amendments to the constitution of our poetrysometimes i just have to vomit to see what i ve eaten because i can t remember what hurts Written February 26th, 2002 © on May 18 2002 02:12 AM PST, Frederic Jacob Gutknecht IV   10 • 0