I was a tree in ’83
something about mid-Westchester aspirations
that led me to believe sub-consciously
that things WERE slower out in the country
and that I needed slower in a lot of ways
then … I came to believe that nothing was slower
that this is the pace of conveyance that life moves at
and if you want to stay caught up or at least
sometimes feel like you can relax and take a breath
and the next two days will move along almost
the way you expect from one moment to the next
and maybe I really liked this at first, but then
it became tedious and a parody of itself imitating
itself like a re-created small town on exhibit
that could rent itself out as a national park on sunny days
and that the people therein be considered wildlife
wearing uniforms that announced their genus and species
and they were damn proud of it
just as any porcupine or skunk would be
or pelican or wildebeast, for that matter,
but, I digress…
This field is where I first smelled your hair
where katydids rang in the late summer
and we were free to discover new places
in car parks and near trees a little bit
off the trail you took off your shirt
as the sun was absorbed by undergrowth
and even with all this dampness in the air
I worried about someone finding us
almost always the overly cautious killjoy
still with sap like maple after rain, as it was
so urgently tapped and released from circuit to circuit
like a drizzle somehow materializing from clouds
by way of rock and the gravity of the situation
something from long ago
a geologic event
somewhat of a chimera or janus
in the moment transformed
into unambiguous essence
immediately crucial to existance
Pete Weber. Virtually scattered about. For the moment here as well: http://www.youtube.com/user/juarjum