Philosophy of Fools

The philosophy of fools in the countryside. The mixture of madness and liquor that hung on their breath. Arms creeping across the treetops. Lips lingering among the branches. Braces that unwound themselves in repentance. Holy men who dug their own graves. Long lines of nails hammered around the island. Telling us which way to go to get inward. How long have we been together? 14 years. It seems like a day. It was the pounding of pistons that killed your brother. The wounding of windowsills who bent too far who asked for too much. Time to reflect and cherish youself in the courtyard as you spin. Hot lead melts from your eyes. The sting of too much Virginia. Alabaster arms folded across your chest. Tiny spheres and diamonds spinning, developing their own gravity. Their own religions and gods. Rockets whose fuel is our fear blasted off last night, leaving us here. The tiny testimony of those left behind.