In a blue-bell’s dewy center I spied your astral eye the child you- the one I never knew, but guessed at.
Dis-embodiment, one may have slurringly suggested – in your days of healing sculptures; quartz and copper hanging from the ceiling over prostrate forms of revelers in Drum+Bass nights of E and K and Xanax before Heroin –
“Dis-embodiment will free us, Death’s a friend, man-” the twin of birth and dark is day and shadow just a ray of sun you’ve stared too long at.
That last long-distance phone-call I stood in my kitchen and your voice came splintered and syrupy through the line saying you needed a ride to the other side of Boston to pick up a sculpture and you were lonely and you regret that we never slept together and all I could say was well I’m married so it will never happen now but I’m your friend Marshall I’m in California Marshall you’re supposed to be a healer, remember? Marshall there’s nothing I can do I’m 3000 miles away right now I’m 3000 miles away
I remember us swing dancing in the band room in the basement of the theater building at Roxbury Latin during a dress rehearsal for the Pillars of Society you were 17 blue eyed dark haired handsome Italian kid from Millis introduced me to P-funk and taught me by example how to properly tell a story I was 16, tow-head tomboy Dot-rat rolling over your broad back and laughing you made it impossible to hate myself
Now I want to ask you what is Nothingness? does it resound, the Void? Can you eavesdrop on its self-interrogations?
And since you’re there forever can you build an infinite machine to heal where Time is torn and to restore a past of earnest speculation
to cast out Morpheus and Loki and begin again?
*painting by William Blake (The Goblin)