Monday, April 24, 2017

Landmarks, Timestamps

It is said that
And I trust that
By the shit we traipsed through
This is how the path was made

you in your Airwalks, I in my Chuck Taylors
when both used to cost $25 per pair
or I in my sandals, you in your bare feet
when we were taking our Jesus phase quite seriously
before you settled on some comfortable work boots
and I in something I felt I could be taken seriously 
at my various graduate school internships

So we pave the way by going it
you with the built-in compass in your limbic system
I with the built-in clock in mine

With whatever we’re equipped
We track through the same mud
Generally keeping each other laughing for most of the journey
But intermittently despairing
I to ask you which landmarks we’ve already passed
You to confirm the accuracy of the timestamps we placed upon them

It’s been told to me that we may expect the trails to be treacherous
that we won’t always get the benefit of a star chart
and we may not even think it’s all that practical to have a timepiece
but that we may each expect a navigator
if we but make the space
and we may throw in a timekeeper
if we have that luxury
You and I got both
You to mock me for my fascination with a tattered road atlas, compulsively highlighting the routes already taken
I to chide you for still not wearing a watch 

I count on it
Like my subconscious automatically counts the seconds
That the missteps 
That the switchbacks yielded
Every gash from every tumble
Every mesquite thorn or sea urchin spine dug out
Every shot of the mezcal thrown back to treat said mesquite thorn puncture
Brought with it the needed context
-Uva Uvam Vivendo Varia Fit-*
                    *(which is super Latiny for what I'm trying to get across here)

In our delirious states
You to point southward the placement of the sun
I to interpret the when of the where its shadow does fall

Now then it could be
to say the least
Once we arrive at the destination
Received by our respective familiars seeing your boots caked
While an even distribution of the crusting covers me up to my torso

Which is what happens
every time
I get despondent, nigh catatonic
And it becomes necessary for you to pull me along

Because I know better than to selflessly tell you
“Oh, just go on without me”
How exactly then would I keep from getting lost?
How exactly then would you arrive on time?

It hasn’t failed us yet

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