| SELF PORTRAIT I Am The Blind Watchmn I am the blind watchman � the all night watchman � I whisper of escapades deep in the heart of the darkness I bring to life the specters that await Just beyond the confines of the daylight Where everything stays down where it�s rooted And leaves no trace behind Ghost � the last realm � I will find & in time So will you � there�s no end to time � there is only darkness There is no end to the darkness there is only legend Of something more but you & I & our dearest friends Will not find it that easily And tripping lightly from one hallucination to another, Call it what you may, I am the all night watchman � I pray for daylight Ring the bells to wake the morning, everyone cries, But I � I cannot � the night is the only domain I know And I welcome you, this is my home Where everything stays resting in fitful slumber And I, as so many before, Lay awake by the light of one star And give these troubled thoughts pause to transcribe And present for the world to see come morning. These poems, these songs whose pentameter has been their downfall, These bourgeoisie of the mind, �These greatest of aspirations, these who will never find their place,� have here a place to rest their journey is one of seemingly little importance, they are the vessels that entreaty these dreams to their flight they sail with the southern winds to panama � I don�t mean panama, that would be unpatriotic, forgive me � they carry on the winds the scent of reason, of escape from the inevitable, they are the vessels bereft of certain heading, drifting aimlessly their travels, take them where they will, leave them longing for � home? Dare I wonder if they feel lost? � can they find a home in these seas? I bring them forth, you can lay arms to them, you can oen your arms to them, they have reached the end and where they find themselves, subject to the fickle nature of this world, is temporarily immortalized on this page taken from the scriptures, these legends resurrected, brought into a new morning if not for you � if not for you, there is no new morning no sunrise to see them safely sailing south�ard they know their place, they found home in �Sessions From Central America� or rise to meet their peers in �What I Know of Treason�. (these places known too well, I forget their names) I cannot think of the word � that one word � the word that Could clarify or simplify the origins of such a custom All you need to believe is that if not for you � If not for you � if not for you, there is no new morning You are the guiding light I am the blind watchman � the all night watchman � And should you give my children shelter, I will give you my hand in comradeship I will open to you my mind And have you take me as you will. Take them where you will It is not I who must account for these writings It is you It is your place to assert and speculate These ancient dialects, fallen from grace in the hastened pace of Time, Have found in you a home, A new morning. |