The Music of Trolls

Oh, you.

There under your bridge.

baiting, baiting.

So misunderstood.

I bet you're really

kind of cool.

If anybody knew.

or tried.

What's it like in the sump, dude?

Kinda moist, I guess.

There but for the

Grace of Dog.

Sorry, troll.

I must decline

an invitation

into the hole.

Though I might visit from time to time.

Just to say hi.

Just to know you are there

alive

a form of living,

sump living.

Somebody's got to do it.

We insist on that, in fact

the rest of us.

It's mandatory. You got the job.

Poor troll.

&&&&

I wrote a poem about someone once

in which I inquired how his fingernails were today.

So, how our yours?

That can get hard when you live in the sump.

I worry about you.

How do you sing? Is it in gamelons?

That would work, I'd think. The simplicity and the echoes.

What do you think of, down there in the sump?

What are your days like?

I guess your sump probably doesn't have any windows

or ventilation.

After all, it's a sump.

But still, there you are

a real troll

down in a sump

It must end somewhere, dear troll.

You can't just go on like this forever.

Live or die, dear troll.

But please

at least, don't forget to try to make sure

there isn't a ladder.

For Claude

Now that you are on the other side
of an especially terrible wall
please allow me to say
that I cannot imagine what to say

other than the usual, the formal
the trite utterances, that are, at the same time
so right
because what else can one say.

Now that you have been cast
in the role of one who got the worst cast
of the dice, now that no one else
can understand, other than those
who also caught snake eyes

please let me say, that though I
don't understand
because I could not possibly understand
because I have no children
that still, I see the edges
of the horror.

Now that you have gone off to
the part of the ocean where
there be dragons
and then fallen off and drowned

please let me say
that I care for you
And that I know this must be terrible
in all of the worst possible senses of the word.

Now that you face a world of hell
for an indefinite period of time

Please let me say
that I care for you
That you were kind to me when I was feeling crazy
that in fact you've done that reliably
And that it mattered.

Now that all hell is lain open for you
Please let me say
That you are you. And nothing will change that.
Not even tragedy.

And please let me say, as well,
that I am honored to know you.
And have felt so for some time.

And one more thing, too.
That though I have no children, I believe
that you are the sort of person
who would care for me if I had one who died
so prematurely, in such tragedy.

That you would have been there.

Because that's how you are
you and your gifts of trees

That's how you are.

there you were

Amazing outlier.

There you were.

When I thought all was lost.

You came in.

From different directions. You were afraid.

We talked, now and then.

We got to know each other a bit.

Then we got funny.

And then we got angry.

And then we got angry.

And then we became friends.

And then, I lost that thing,

where one has no friends.

It became something out into the void

Where one suddenly has the energy

to exhaust the fail

but not in a bad or mean way

Just do it.

In a kind way.

And then just sit there, for some time.

Talk to your dog.

Get up in the morning, sometime.

Remember that your dog is there, needs your attention.

Remember that.

Get up. Talk to your dog.

Look at the light.

Think about what must be done.

Look at your dog.

Get out of the bed. But oh, no. First, wake up. And then stretch. Stretch a lot. That's right.

Meanwhile, the dog awaits. He knows. When you work up to the stretching...he starts to pace.

He knows.

He knows it because he's your dog.

He knows that it's time to get up.

He's polite, your dog. But he knows. He knows.

The Entire World

The entire world, is falling together at the seams,
We are imploding.

Oh, no. Oh, no; not my world.

Not my sweet world.

Maybe yes. Maybe no.

Oceans rumble. Death swills.

When I was a young girl,
we didn't think of this.

We were brave
we were strong.

We knew we would not let the bastards grind us down.

Instead, they ground down

everything else.

Figures.

Now we live on little mental islands
typing, typing, typing

Waiting and wondering

Will we live?

Will our species live?

Will mammals at least survive?

Will there be fish? (no, probably not).

Will there be insects? (possibly)

Plants? Will there be plants?

Can we at least keep plants?

Leave us that much?


Or will you leave us to the theoretical bacterial constructs, that
we think about, when we think of Mars, or moons of Saturn, or planets of reasonably close stars.

Will that be all we get?

Will that be the "hope?"

Is that it?

I didn't want so much to be gone

I used to think it mattered what I wanted, and then I started getting old and
realized that it really didn't matter very much what I wanted.

And now I think of pond scum, and think; wow. How amazing.

I walk through the mundane circumstances of my world...streets, ill-kept lawns, sporadic trash. People in grocery stores. Groceries! So amazing, all of that.

And I think of it all overtaken by the moons of Saturn, the storms of Venus.

Shopping carts hurled into the abyss, flaming away

What songs will be sung then? Because there must always be songs, no?

How will we sing of the end of the world? Because we must be prepared.

It really might happen, in fact it must, eventually.

I just didn't think that I would have to get ready for this,

to create the fairy tales of such, in my lifetime,

as an obligation for my niece's grandchildren,

my nephew's grandchildren

anybody's grandchildren

anybody who is alive now and has children.

But now I'm starting to feel a kind of obligation, to start early

on these myths.

Because, here we go folks,

down the roller coaster

The really big one

Into the really scary one.

What do I have to offer? I ask myself constantly.

What do I have to offer?

Well, I can tell stories.

I can tell stories.

And at the end, that may be

all that is left.

what must I do

whatever is this,
is that,
that I must do

to fix that broken love thing.

Wow. What a bitch.

Years of this. Four.

Four years of broken love thing.

It never occurred to me that it could go on that long.

that broken love thing.

That broken love thing keeps coming up though,

through the mud

like strong frogs and odd fish.

It's here again. That evolved fucked up broken love thing.

Oh, well, fuck. Here you are again, oh broken-eyed beauty

with your strange new tails, and your twisted, yet strong limbs.

You're here again, to offer, your broken love sump.

That which could suck me in, yet again, yet again.

Not too cool.

But still, I think.

And still, I wait.

And still, I imagine.

But yet, I care, and care and care

because you were not there

too many times, oh dear one.

Not there.

Big Easy to Big Empty

More December Music

Rage Against the Machine, "Testify"



Fairport Convention, "I'll Keep It With Mine"



Tracy Chapman, "Give Me One Reason"



&&&

Damien Jurado, "I Had No Intentions"









http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQFuNHCMF2Y

Elliott Smith, "Trouble"