Established Marvel : a Monk by Abbreviation

206. SOME MEMORY OF SAD UPON AWAKENING:

“As William Fishbait Miller I played a hell of a game and as the white LOVE van in your driveway I entered into another aspect of romantic playfulness but all we ever wound up doing was getting horribly drunk and leaving piles of empties around which no one ever wanted to clean up or collect and seeing as to how we were (our motto) ‘Dedicated To Mobility’ we just moved along and on to the next starry atmosphere or crazy drunken endeavor and sometimes – although we were sad upon awakening – we just moved out and were STARTLED maybe into submission maybe into nothing but anyway THAT was all so long ago and like an enormous bevy of bees swarming wild those old cinching memories still tighten my soul but running away causes nothing to change and as I walked along just this morning past the old Clement Moore place I watched the people entering the old cemetery gates and wondered why and I came upon the enormous vines which someone had cut brutally in half and thus ENDED right there a seventy-year life of growth and beauty intertwined with the old black high metal fence the secret language of the Gods even that was not enough to stop the cutter to cease the destroyer and I watched the three skinny girls over at one side as they in turn watched me but the broad lawn stretched between us and nothing was said between us as we all realized at the moment of death that something miraculous had been destroyed but what the modern world relegates to nothing the modern world also kills and so it is and so it was and the charmed nature of the woman on my elbow graced that thought and made the idea play right backwards until we reached the next climactic street and in the silence of the dread what more was there to say and why and if we motioned for one moment to STOP something we nonetheless kept right on going out under the trestle past the old railroad along the cobbled set-back walk into the glass-fronted apartment building and up up on up to the simple 6th floor gallery where something WE THOUGHT waited but it was only two other men hands entwined bonded together dangling love like serpents’ teeth over the balcony and glass and though I couldn’t even understand him he kept talking to me about the photographs and the artists and the Hudson River’s ripply sheen which played color off our dead dark faces and as we talked the nearby open window allowed in street noise from below and suddenly someone shattered glass and the tinkling high enormous shatter broke our conversation solidly apart and words like waves of sound departed” and this went on you see like dissembling or avoidance has a way of doing for it was already mid-afternoon and we’d yet so much left to do.