Mason Jars

*Edit* This is what happens when I’ve been drinking. *Edit*

Don’t you get it?  There’s something ineffable crawling around in our very midst, something just eluding the edges of our gallon jars.  We can’t cage it, we can’t create it, we can only hope to ride it to a happy ending.  In the very end of the ending, there’s a couple of words that define the denouement.  That’s so stupid, I know, I know it, I’ve always known it.  But listen here, and listen close; we’re moving towards something inevitable, and every jump and every rattle of this seemingly endless ride is something to be cherished endlessly, to be held in a mason jar and admired as if the rarist of entymologic specimens, and even then still returned to the restless wild.  We can not hope to comprehend the boundless energy zipping and zapping undefined throughout every crevice of our expanding bodies.  We are what we are; slowly expanding, slowly expanding, slowly expanding, and I think I became this despite the better interests of myself and for the betterment of the wilting world around me.  I can do something great, can’t I?  Can’t I?  Something great could happen, some great amount of action could drip from my tired fingers, some bit of timeless wisdom could escape these lips, right?  Right?  It’s not all in vain, right?  Every weathervane tonight is measuring precipitation in a futile effort to measure the weather, when every important aspect of life is whooshing through us at every second of everyday, and only the most disciplined, jaded people can hold themselves up to the pitiless wind and declare themselves immune.

There’s a pitiless master lighting furses tonight, there’s lightning bolts racing from cell to cell tonight, there’s building conflagration in my rolling shoulders tonight, there’s the promise of impending action on the horizon tonight, there’s a promise of justice on the bottom of the gavel tonight, there’s a sense of permanence on my lips tonight, there’s a miasma of holiness on the moon tonight, there’s a veneer of hope coating my lips tonight, there’s the belief in god on the wind tonight, there’s a faint call to the lost wolves in the rabbits’ hickups tonight, there’s a moon melting to a pile of wax on the edge of the Earth tonight, there’s an axeblade in all of our hearts splitting sternum tonight, there’s a bit of divinity blooming in our eyes tonight.

There’s some weary animal begging for air tonight, but it won’t get it, it can’t get it, it will never get it.  It’s going to smother, and lay in tread marks until the sun sets the sea to furious fire.

Greet the greening swain with a ferocious smile.