November 8, 2022

The Rainbow Tree

I was baptized in the Virgin River
chased down a mountain
by a witch
during a heavy storm
swollen and black
the waters roared
and I sought to cross safely
but Charon was gone
and in his place, the giant
who stomps across time

My legs, weak
we followed
and under God I went–
saved by a rock
that now rests on my back

It was there on the shore
the dye washed from my pants
a man with a lantern
would not let me pass
so, I swung–
and I missed
gone a tree’s length away
“Go on, go home!”
these words did he say

Nightfall, cold blanket
I found the dark cave
thoughts of my mother,
my father and brothers
and my dog, he was dead
so I tore the book that I read
“Jack Kerouac, you bastard!”
I shred you to pieces
on the road with my friends
the year twenty and ten


Everything there
I learned always will be
my sadness,
my joy
my paperback cover
I could wreck life to pieces
and still be so perfect

You see,
I was born on that day
and there I did perish

I am the witch
and the giant

The mountain
and the rock

I am death unto life
I am love and my loss

I am the river
and a man

I'll say it again:

I am a river
and the man

Half of me
is Lybrand

The Rainbow Tree

A poem

I'm Pulp Again

a poem

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Brando Conklin © 2022