Wednesday, July 4, 2012

When you're in Texas, look behind you.

His house contained odd sex toys
Which he collected from a curiosity shop
Called "Open Minds", in the dark part of town.
He quickly hid these, not sure if he should be embarrassed.
He was getting married soon and it didn't seem
Odd in the least bit, that he would be pursuing
Extracurricular stimuli.

I had yet to meet his fiancee.
In fact, when I last saw the groom
He had not yet known the bride.
In Philadelphia, he appeared prophetically.
He took philosophy classes, and talked about
His ideals while writing archetypal notes backwards
In a little black notebook.

He always seemed alien to me and
I wondered what he would appear like in
His own natural habitat.
I would talk to him from time to time.
He was reaching success by using his mutant latent abilities
At pragmatism; he attributed his success to paradox-
The Prince and The Art of War.

A stranger from a strange land.
He would describe the customs, he was used too,
He was good at this - Deconstruction, Comparison, Reconstruction
All in his little black notebook, inseparable.
He belonged in Philosophy class, like cheese belongs on pizza,
An improvement to the tomato pie.
Telling stories of Texan life, documented empirical data from his past.

He lost his brother and crushed his hand.
He meditated knee deep in swampland
While on homegrown psychedelic mushrooms.
He built catapults which led to miracles.
He was a good fighter, and Texan problems were often solved with fists.
He trusted the wild boar and crocodile more then man.
For he knew they wanted to kill him.

I wanted to see this, and being invited to his wedding
I came down to Texas, the night of his bachelor party.
He promised to show me the reality of the dream he had weaved
When we were back home.
I drove from Dallas, for two hours, on a empty highway
The silence was deafening.
I arrived at his warehouse, and waited an hour

I followed his car, and my GPS simultaneously
But he lived in the sticks, in a place not considered
A road by my technology.
Only the mailman knew where he lived.
The door was open, always, to car and house alike.
You didn't steal down here, because you never know
Who you were stealing from.

It was everything I imagined, and I was only
A couple hours deep, The beginning of my journey.
Laying my things in the living room of his redneck manor.
With a buckhead hanging on the wall, and moonshine in refrigerator.
While he hid the rabbitears from the night before.
He blushed, while catching up, glad to see me
My Texas journey was just beginning.

1 comment:

  1. If I opened a sex toy shop, it would be called open "wound"