Wednesday, September 16, 2009
J.C. In Memoriam
Wet leaves along the threshold of the mid-day
and I'm off to rescue the sky from its assassins
jogging and screaming and launching my clean mortars
into the March obscene air. . . the enemy.
I suppose I'd rather be sitting in Samoa now
sipping a quart of Orange Julius and being fanned
by Joey Heatherton in black tights and white glossy lipstick.
but I'm not. I'm here. and I have something to say,
as well as something to take care of.
And that something is probably more important than
you realize. I like the sky (don't you), its warmth, its friendliness,
I'm not going to let all this fucking soot taint that terrific blue.
battle the filthy airs with your mortars and your prayers.
you'll soon be overcome with lovely sensations of the sky.
you'll be thinking of me as this happens.
— Jim Carroll