Innocence is your child. To find your way you must lose the child. What do you do
when the body will hold no more moonlight?
It didn’t matter what life was saying. I knew that, but I wanted to hear it anyway.
I wanted a reason, even a bad one, why you could talk about it with the cooing in your
voice that made the pigeons soft and sleepy and not about to fly away.
I was watching what was happening to me while it happened. There were some
things in my vision that reality hadn’t put there. A moment that functioned like a used tea
bag. It did almost nothing to the surrounding environment, but you couldn’t help feeling
it should have left something more of itself behind.
Because I knew what I was talking about, I told the children not to listen to me.
Now I can clearly see how blind I am. Like those who believe heaven exists, just
never where you are.
We order whatever they’ve got, like we came here for it and there it was. It doesn’t
take very much of it to be wrong. What we want is worth something. We’re already fat
with it, swollen. A cream sauce made of scorpions and ecstasy.
I know that it doesn’t work that way, but I also know that it doesn’t work. That’s
why I was carrying a couple of goats in my lunch box to help with the vertical
developments and provide inspiration for standing still and staring and eating things that
get in the way. Natural disasters seemed attracted to my resiliency.
Eventually the world will reject you, which allows you to give birth to yourself.
Can you explain now how you ever expected to keep Innocence happy?
Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2013. There’s still time to catch up. Refer to the Burrow Guide.