Farewell Cassandra
Who you are in a long line of selves. Millport times segues by in sixties era organic celluloid frames. In Life’s Theatre. Adolescent spirit yearnings of light and dark. Blood, brain, skin, nerves, cells proliferating always an aching underlying pain hungers for mystic myth, for eternal spirit. Images shatter into colored glass pages. Green piny hills, silver winding streams and blue singing waterfalls where rustic fey mermaids and turtle gods exist in words made flesh. Shining like ancient eternal forms living forever in the eye of spirits passing bye. Farewell Cassandra sitting on your pastel rock on a pixelated shore gazing out upon gently billowing waves of aquamarine.
Cut forward/To Madison Tennessee
Indian Joseph abandons the pine clad forested hills of Millport and returns to torpid southern lands. How did this change occur? A sudden mystic warp in space time, elliptic awakening from an extended fever dream? No ? He caught a Trailways Bus and his almost grown thirteen year old self flailed along magic arcana caterpillar lines into another facet of dimensional metamorphosis . He does not fare well on long bus trips. The diesel fumes reminded the subconscious spirit of noxious Hadean odors perhaps. How many lifetimes lived already, and myriads to come. In years bygone as a very young boy his Mother Anais and he would at odd intervals commute from Air Force bases where Benito was stationed in Texas or Georgia to Tennessee to stay with Anais’ mother Emmaline. (Benito, El Hefe, Nuevo Napoleon, ragaholic, broken sea of dreams, lost soul scavenging for manic, worthless treasures of pilfered Aztec gold under arid, hot Texas skies.)Now, lots of weir waters under bridges later, once again Indian Joseph repeats this hereditary pattern alone.
On the highway, on a Trailways bus. Blasts of adolescent endorphins, precursors of tumbler adventures, biochemical cocktails trick the brain. It is an old story of youth, cast in trajectories of the commonplace and somehow too miraculous to imagine what happens from moment to moment.
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Written on 2026-09-08 at 16:55
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