Details to … Céline
Communication is the bread of life,
rather a fly--
me--me--me—I'm dying everyday
every minute—listen to me
friends, listen— as lovers pound
into each other the communication
of their mortality--
yet always left with their own--
theirs, no choice--only acceptance.
We all listen and listen
a whole lifetime of stories,
of youth, of trauma, of fear--
thousands of secondary experiences
(even our own)
piled on top of one another
like crates of apples
that must be taken from here to there--
just because they must.
And we're better for them--
understand more-- who wants
to experience death — to understand it--
Yet it's not all that--final— in large
packages--big images, a full screen
—see the large picture!
No, it's little, tiny, minute
scrambling plankton-- washed
in an endless sea of details.
Stories, little hurts, a bad joke, a
good one, the newly sewn dress and a rip.
The attentions of a god who is 17.
Pirouettes on favorable tones-- from
a friend or a boss-- just about anyone--
except mud—well, mud too, maybe.
Smooth strokes of a lover— an acquaintance
and the telling, the telling of the
long tale— that is us — someone who'll
listen to the infinite string of pain,
misery in joy, identifications,
heroes — the unique way to God.
Someone to make our story--
just told, past, more to come--
(we hope) - the endless movie in
silent & sound, color & black and white—make
it mean —for a moment in the telling
something beyond the click of the shutter--
click, come on, click, click, —don't
stop--
we've not told it all, yet!
Los Angeles
1979
Los Angeles Series
©1979 Details to … Celine — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
rather a fly--
me--me--me—I'm dying everyday
every minute—listen to me
friends, listen— as lovers pound
into each other the communication
of their mortality--
yet always left with their own--
theirs, no choice--only acceptance.
We all listen and listen
a whole lifetime of stories,
of youth, of trauma, of fear--
thousands of secondary experiences
(even our own)
piled on top of one another
like crates of apples
that must be taken from here to there--
just because they must.
And we're better for them--
understand more-- who wants
to experience death — to understand it--
Yet it's not all that--final— in large
packages--big images, a full screen
—see the large picture!
No, it's little, tiny, minute
scrambling plankton-- washed
in an endless sea of details.
Stories, little hurts, a bad joke, a
good one, the newly sewn dress and a rip.
The attentions of a god who is 17.
Pirouettes on favorable tones-- from
a friend or a boss-- just about anyone--
except mud—well, mud too, maybe.
Smooth strokes of a lover— an acquaintance
and the telling, the telling of the
long tale— that is us — someone who'll
listen to the infinite string of pain,
misery in joy, identifications,
heroes — the unique way to God.
Someone to make our story--
just told, past, more to come--
(we hope) - the endless movie in
silent & sound, color & black and white—make
it mean —for a moment in the telling
something beyond the click of the shutter--
click, come on, click, click, —don't
stop--
we've not told it all, yet!
Los Angeles
1979
Los Angeles Series
©1979 Details to … Celine — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.