tonight
what this really is: an early night waiting to be opened, petaled outwards, spread apart.
: delicate intensity, mushed words, high school nights and curfews. there's supposed to be magic in tomes, slim secret-books, the libraries are still full of mystique and antique dust, past, large-format negative in a book nobody reads, that kind of deal. things to look forward to, time around the bend, excitement, the sense of touching largeness, wholeness.
when I saw waiting for godot the other night it was a: reculmination, recollection. tender tender urgencies summoned back up: drawing paul auster maps, mining shared secrets, all these supposed forces in the world, bildungsromans and revelations, the idea of words and potential. movement. shit. that kind of deal: leaving vector marks on tables and on masking tape on classroom ceilings, spray tempura on the side of brick buildings, just for fun, shadowy caricatures but sovereign in their own right.
what the hell were we thinking? running off to darkrooms to develop a generation-old negative. was there magic in four-by-five? did the sailor's clothes or the sepia tone of an improper fix lead us to say, hey, we found some of this hidden ______, this invisible essential syrup-like quality revealed out under chipped paint, as if there was anything underlying, important, philip larkin and emails and that shit, things overlooked and necessary like frozen winter ground or young green bark, a deeper autumn sky, high windows, the endlessness of the day, tragic endings for the night.
a progression of steps, kneeling. call numbers: dewey decimals: a casebook opened. here's an interpretation: godot was not god. flip the page: the feminization of blame and burden. again: the parable of the thief. careful, hold it right, copy the right pages. the night's getting thick, library fluorescents dimming. pack your bags, swing the door. step on grass and make your waking hours back home, to photographs and a set of yellow bulbs and a deep thick blanket. look out the window at japanese maple leaves, watch a darkening ceiling, find sleep, think about tomorrow.
tray bong, tray tray tray bong