Nearly Perfect

dandeaconmericadandeaconmericadaannddeeaacccoonnnnmmmerrriiicdcaaaa.

No nuclear bombs tonight. I don't know even where to find those. It's only 12 p.m. I am set up and ready to go, fall down, lay out, sprout up. Ear buds in my ears, life music in my brain. Growing inside me. Brown baby. Filled up with shit, blowed out my ass. Dying just in time for the moment I die, when I do, it'll be ready, at just that right exact time, the end, goodbye. And just right inside me in my mind I know what life will be after it's all over inside forever and never growing up and never going out and always being good and always having fun, and we high-five so loud something breaks and collapses, no conventional actual thing that could be called a thing, it is nothing, but so just described by words so that they know what I mean.

Washing, clean soap, natural, no additives or preservatives. Plastic bottle that will never be in a landfill. I can make a dust pan or a soil scooper, or just eat it and take years off of my life. It is eager to end, because I contain some much sought after chemicals. Rare and desirable. That is my life in a gun-shell.

Surprising to realize how much I don't know. Surprised that I can know how much I know and do not know. I am clear and phallic and surprisingly municipal. But of course we need metaphors, but are they even metaphors? Is there any better way that our current language can explain these tender subjects? We often need to invent new language to explain these ideas and images that seek us out then encode themselves in us and wait for us to seek them out and release them, bring them into existence. God does not exist. No doubt there is a God, but exist is not what God does. We exist for God. Whyever you may think you exist is one of the infinite reasons why God exists. Aaron did this to me. Or maybe not. We are just similar fields of energy in the constant fabric of reality.

Say what it is. Near perfection out in the field by the barn by the woods. Exactly in the field on the grass in the wet weather of the growing life in the simple order.

Nearly perfect.

All that you can ask.