There are no secrets
You keep searching for some secret knowledge, some key to the door of it all but ...
“Every door you enter is also a door by which you are exiting.”
I once had dreams.
Living behind
the sooty Iron Curtain
a chest full of books
to keep my head
full of marmalade dreams,
I spent my days
drinking pitchers of 5 crown beer
Staropramen
and as soon as
I’d finish a jug
I’d throw it
out the big open window
hearing it clatter, clatter
on the cobblestones below,
the gypsy kids shrieking and
running for it
then filling it for me
at the corner hospody
for a handful of change.
I had dreams then.
Realizing, I’d never get the chance
to know who the fuck I am
in some factory in Ontario.
Mornings
running through the forests
day after day
in love with the one
that was not in love with me,
feet up in the afternoons
reading Nietzsche or Cioran
and
trying to figure the world out
trying to put the puzzle pieces together
but not knowing
what the picture was.
Dreams.
They keep you going.
Nights out
waking up
beautifully hungover, cold
on the banks of the Ohře,
rolling over wet with dew
and seeing the black swans
and knowing it
was going to be ok,
I’d live another day
and maybe put one
piece of that puzzle
in place.
I had dreams then.
I was going to paint my masterpiece.
I was going to figure it all out.
I guess you need a reason
to live
everybody does
’cuz now
knowing there is no secret
to this universe or
to anything,
it damn well
ain’t easy
this driving nowhere
with
no map.
Keep those dreams close.
And keep those puzzle pieces
even closer.