Filling the senses forgets the future

Fourth of july starts at a new house in a warm area of the other city. In front of every little place on the street fat fuchsia roses or eight-foot succulents exploding. Eat and drink luxury jamboree, camaraderie under the thick and funky black-painted iron chandelier, before twilight still, light filtering in all ways from windows facing various cardinal points: how do we do so much with our mouths? Slugging el jimador shots and sipping belgian bog myrtle ale and munching falafel wraps from the lebanese café down the block…speeding delightfully through english’s excesses, implanting meanings by the microsecond beneath the brunette follicles, popping with weird exhalations when a meaning tickles.

Finely buzzled now and the sun has set, the talking taken up too much time, we’ll be late except for the health of our legs. So we run-walk, with one imperative 7-eleven pop-in for nat shermans, cloves, m&ms…hearing the fireworks already sizzling circumferentially. Dead end, blue recycling bin hoist, jumping over the fence to lightless cemetery below. Adrenaline redolent of long-ago adolescent sneakings. We steer off paved paths (they patrol the sprawling tombland in metermaid-like vehicles), winding hurriedly around headstones towards the highest hill as the far-off crackles and booms.

Some sacrilegious peeing, then other adult delinquents in the dusk. All trying to find the shortest way to the top. We arrive at construction debris, elevated some, and decide to stake out in fear of missing entirely. More hoisting, relying on thirty-year-old wrists that seem strong since booze-deep, up onto large, unshaped concrete coffins stacked two high, convenient and glowing white in the urban dark. And we firework-view. Black tree silhouettes frame sections of distance. More beers out of the knapsack, smoking the long, brown-papered cigarettes, feeling like graveyard kings reclining there. Seeing the points of red, orange, green light starbursting miles away but many sets – at various cardinal points and circumferentially. Thinking about childhood july fourths, how much bigger were the pyrotechnics not even because I was smaller but because of basically lying beneath them in the small-town park across the street. Enjoying the sarcastic lilts of their voices and the cozy nostalgia of rumbling bursts. Ignoring the unknowns of the newly-discovered illness. Enjoying the present of the night.

~ by kingzoko on July 14, 2014.

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