Tall Man

Where is this going.  And what have I to show for it.  A shallow grave.  It's a song, a little banjo ditty by The Tallest Man Alive.  It's where I am, looking up, seagull V's catching the eye.  The sun at my back and my shadow before me.  And the light late-afternoon breeze coaxes the grass to dance among the still ivy.  All those serene white-sailed silhouettes are pointing to port.  The ocean in the bay is calm.  No swell, just that texture going off towards that hazy horizon, with Monterey looming in the distance.  It's just idling by, life, and I don't see it's direction.

I just feel it in my bones, in my legs looking south.  Towards the future, towards something else, away from this quagmire, this place of reckoning and tenacity.  Drag this tired body home to the familiar.  The nostalgia, the waking dream of LA.  I'll bring by grave with me and I won't be found.  Just sit in it cross-legged, eyes at ankles and watch the feet go by.


Amuck in the absence.
Get up.

[getting up]