By this time of the year (In days of old and times past) we would already be
onto deer trails-------- ^^^^^^^^^^in the woods of Fairview park.^^^^^^^^^^ - at the bottom of Stevens Creek runs through those steep hills. - We will dip our toes in the slow, murky water (James came to town) as the thick, sweet smell of my burning cigarillo (and the whiskey fell into our glasses.) lingers on the water's surface. (It was a race to see who would pass out last) It is here that we are young; No moss clinging. (and be the one to see him off at dawn.) - That old ****-colored truck with the key broken off in the ignition will take life with every well-used car I'm in. "The Brown Trout". Marcus called from the 24-hour gas station on Eldorado to tell you he broke the key in the ignition and couldn't seem to get the ****** truck started. We gave comedy its due. What could we have done at that point but stumble into the blue? I recall forty girls & boys crammed into an efficiency apartment that night as the bathroom vent sapped the room of smoke, liquor stench and Nag Champa incense, while the dense fog of budding lust hung in stasis over our heads. Boys on the exit living out their tree house fantasies; drinking away boredom and skateboard injuries. - Phantoms of the apartment buildings (Do you remember Dipper Lane?) at the end of West Main tell tales of past tenants. (I seem to have forgotten your name again.) What does it feel like (Did you hear something?) to be a home away from home? (I've been alone this whole time.) - It's four years later and the bikini tree has tan lines, they cut down the ******* walnut at my old house, and built my ark from its wood. Supple leaves line the Sylvan Queen's Kermes colored hair as we sail for higher ground. Now the stinging sunlight cuts through the cracks in the wood. - I'm examining the border of a much larger picture. Even now, the resolution grows fuzzy. You are a leaf on the five-hundredth page of my dictionary. Ginko. I placed you there on a particularly sunny day in July when the Magicicadas woke up to the sound of Joe Cocker, and we both learned the language of the spheres.
A revised and re-titled version of Part IV. Parts V and VI still to come...