Kindred
An Indian dream
Oceans Apart
Drumbeat like
Mother’s fading heart
High on illness, but not a politically correct illness like cancer, I speed alone to California passing by burning spindles and minarets all whispering, “she comes with yellow pills and dollar bills” making faces like my lover with death sick bedridden eyes and extender fingers that collapse on impact with a tear or fist.
“Always in your thoughts, never in your heart” she’d always say. Fuck how I learned to hate loving her. The way a drunk farmer loves the runt of the litter but has to kill because it doesn’t have a chance. Traveling is a vivid correspondence with the mind.
I finally reach my purpose, young and aware of everything standing lost at some sort of beginning like an eyeball before a vast gallery. I breathe in everything at once. A picture. Every taste of the expanse is a moving desolate picture with me standing alone, a bag over one shoulder and empty pockets which for the record is a most obscene nudity in parts such as these. Stepping forward I feel warm shots in my chest and between my legs. I am merging with this unpalatable art and sealing a third world behind me. A new beginning, a tasteful ending. Yards ahead, between a blink I see a short cobblestone street, archaic as I never hope to be with a man equally as old who surely has been the fulcrum of this street, holds each block in place and the sky at bay like a godly intention has molded him to his hard wooden bench. He doesn’t notice a swarthy naked boy pissing onto the cobblestones, his freedom of ignorance, I can hear the Nile
itself as his piss lifts sediment and carries it for miles down the cracks to my feet and I, standing unnoticed could be a spy and kill them all.
The trees hang toward the streets and mock the simple village, pointing and laughing, two expressionless old women on a low concrete encasement not speaking. Neither want anything from each other or anyone, they are silent and listen. Behind them lies a small temple, white and pure stands empty, a single candle burning, illuminating a lone window can be seen man fucking his God by candlelight. No one minds. It is a separate entity, a reminder of quiet achievement pristine and untouched.
I step through a stream of urine to show that I have no prejudice toward anyone or anything and especially neither of the three separate worlds that exist at once. I shall not pick nor choose. My eyes firmly shut to God. An odorless intense neglect. Nothing shall ever find me here.
Jadon T Rempel
