JAY WALKING ACROSS THE AUTOBAHN

Jay Walking Across the Autobahn

If I had known where this was all going to end up

I never would have taken this trip

No, that's not right, I take that back

I had no choice in the matter

I was born with a suitcase in my hand

A wad of dirty hundred dollars bills

And a longing for something I've never known, 

Let alone found.

There was a tiny seed germinating in my heart

Weed or flower, who knows? (I have no wisdom)

Beauty or ugliness, who can tell? (I have no sight)

Not the sight of a wise man or the wisdom of the blind

But extra-sensory perception that comes from misuse.

They say that God protects the innocent and the fool

(Some say the alcoholic and the atheist)

It's been my sad experience to learn 

That the inebriated fall all the same on broken glass

But do not know until much later, how torn and broken

That they have been all along

But I am not a drunkard.

I did not believe in God

For twelve minutes in the hot July sun

One long Monday morning in the sixteenth year of my life

I did not believe in anything because I had been damaged

And all the faith had been grabbed out of my heart

And sent off down a raging river that issued from my own eyes;

For twelve minutes I was an atheist.

Being alone in the universe without a creator

Is the loneliest feeling you can ever have

There was no one to rail at, no one to cry to

No one to blame for everything and nothing

And no one to beg for mercy 

When I had come to the end of myself;

Therefore,  I am not an atheist.

There was love there in the desert

Here and there, an oasis or two

Shade from the heat as I wandered like Ishmael and Hagar

Wondering what I had done besides being born

At the wrong time to the wrong people

But love, like everything, is fleeting

And slipped like sand through my fingers.

Did you ever have a song stuck in your head

That just keeps playing over and over and over?

Well, that's my life, my memories, few as they are

They play in my gray cells like tiny transistor radios

Crackling with static and intermittent signals

That never come in quite strong enough to identify.

I have blisters on my feet from walking,

Blisters on my hands from carrying this luggage,

Blisters on my heart from being burned so many damned times

That soon the scar tissue will be five inches thick and impenetrable

But I can't seem to stop walking

They won't let me

And I won't let them let me.

I saw a crazy man once;

He didn't see me, I don't think

But I watched him for a good half hour

Out in the middle of the freeway in America

Batting at birds that were not there

And talking to people that did not talk back

I was fascinated by the conversation

And only grew afraid when I saw an angel

Take his arm and escort him to the curb.

I think I might have an angel

Otherwise, why am I still here?

I've fallen off of mountains and washed up on to seashores

Been hit by trains and hurricanes

Still clutching my battered suitcase,

Still breathing through the sea weed, my heart still pounding,

Long after the world had given me up for dead.

I don't even remember why I started writing this now

I have no one to mail it to

There's no post office box waiting somewhere

For someone to turn the key in

And exclaim, Hey, look! A letter!

There's no reason to start a diary now

Here at the end of my life.

But still, I feel the need

To record my thoughts

As I stand here at the side of the road

Watching cars go whizzing by at 125 mph

It's almost exhilarating to feel that wind in my face, my hair

I think I could almost feel happy.

When I finish writing this, I'll put it in my suitcase

With the other little things that mean nothing to no one

The bit of fish net and blue glass,

The song that the sailor wrote, the red autumn leaf,

The feather that fell from the sky, the dream I tried to paint,

The coat with no sleeves and the bottle from Paris.

It's been a long, strange trip indeed, around the world

I started out alone and that's how I'll end

My pockets are still full of money, for I never needed any

(You cannot buy what I desire)

I'm no older than I was and no younger than I wish to be

And if I am wiser, it's because I've learned

That what I'm looking for cannot be found here.

I touch the items in my luggage one last time

To thank them for accompanying me

We have shared many things, these treasures and I

(And not all of them terrifying)

If inanimate objects can feel anything,

I'm sure they feel my gratitude and devotion

And having done that, I square my shoulders,

Get a firm grip on the ragged, black suitcase

And step into the road.

                  

©by Voo

March 7, 09

1:45 a.m.