Poetry

On Being

Circa 1985

Sitting in the living room with the blank TV
screen under the light from the window
each day I awake somewhere
on the high plateau of being.
You strap on your being-suit,
snug against the ribs
almost up to your armpits,
and this will hoist your posture in some way
that will help you, will help you to think,
or give you a clear space in which not to
think, and will give you a clearer eye
during those times of degradation and
the slow decay of your resolve to deal
with the matter–any matter,
that are sure to come.
The diaspora of being.
The warriors looked a certain
way in their harness.
On the high plateau we slowly
disappear into the years of
our years.
On remote crags, isolated
birds roost,
as well as
Time, the vampire

Untitled

Circa 1985

There is no beginning and no end
Our love is common knowledge
If we choose to speak

It is because our mouths delight
in the words we say
We suck on them like beer,
We are drunk all the time,

And there is no beginning and no end.

from the Desk of Elwood H. Schneider

circa 1985, taken from a letter by Russ

Susie Dear Susie.
A strange day.
Brain has been turned off but
sense impressions remain. Not bad,
really. Service was rather nice, though
preacher preached too much. Grandmother
doing okay. Strange to see people
carrying on as if this were no more
than a reunion, though, strangely,
it does not seem that strange.

Will return with an ostrich-hide
belt and a painting of
a remote prairie farmhouse. Michigan
ecstasy is wearing off,
feeling like a simple
animal and wish you
were here to stalk
with me. Buy wine
with this, drink,
break all the
windows in the
house, get some fresh air and be
completely unperturbed.
Build a fire in the living room
and I will be back
to camp with you.
We will pull down
the roof and look at
the stars (By the way,
I left something for you
behind the digital clock.)

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