The sun is on its throne,
The jesters are out
On cracked pavement,
Recently torn up
For one reason or another,
Tripping on the fissures
In the false earth.
Their skin is cooked,
Eyes buried in an avalanche
Of creased brows
And greyed shadows
Above parched lips
Recently wetted by
Bottles of fire water.
One stumbles and takes
To rest upon one knee,
His partner shuffling along
To assist in the continuation
Of their awkward travels,
Throngs of faceless beings
Swarming about like angry bees.
One adjusts his hat,
Clearing his throat to say nothing,
While the other examines
The scuffs on his pointed boots,
Adjusting his belt,
Gathering himself and his friend,
And moving forward.
Only recently they met,
And shared a few ounces
Of one another’s spirits,
Now they walk,
Arms on shoulders,
Down the only street in town
That really matters.
The night was thick enough
To choke the stars,
Only a few hours before,
Which called for a drink
Under a broken street lamp
Next to mounds of dirt and
Abandoned construction equipment.
The one heard the other,
Moans of unknown cause,
Rhyming reason into
Cacophonous folk lyrics
Which stirred images
Of better times on grassy steppes
With warmth and simplicity.
Under the lamp one said
He knew of a way to rekindle
The dying embers;
A portable time machine
That burns from the inside
Yet removes you from the city
While leaving your body behind.
They carried on as such,
Bellowing haughty condemnation
Of youth and modern machinations,
Kicking dust to cover the city
In what it should be,
Until the sun rose and flushed
The confidence from their souls.
Forward they march to
Frenetic drums on jazz tempo,
Time signatures jumping,
Careful and calculated
In their chaotic order,
This being the only state
Their minds can bear to stand.
Composed 08/23/2012
Author’s Note: To piggyback off of the previous post on alcohol and alcoholism in Mongolia, I thought I would post this. I saw two drunk men helping each other down the road outside of the bank one day. I had only been at my new site for about two weeks, and was still getting a feel for the city. Sometimes the social ills that trouble a community are very visible, and sometimes they aren’t. I often wonder about how these issues shape and affect the individual, and how their personal history is shaped by them.
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