Monday, January 19, 2009

I am…
Kyle Peets

I am sand that sits still. I am a kiwi-berry. I am the frost on the outside of the window and then I am the condensation on the inside. I am a dirty-fingered-derelict. I am high while I sit on the ground. I am low as I sit on the stars. I am a wheel with rusty bearings. I am a Ruben sandwich with Canadian bacon instead of corned-beef.
The great Canadian honkers that fly over your house in the middle of the night, yeah that’s me. That lonesome ripple in the water, that’s me. That strange cloud that hangs out over Mt. Shasta and looks like a space ship, that’s me. That hair raising sound of a trumpet under city lights, that’s me. I am Abraham Lincoln’s missing head.
Van Gogh would cut off his ear for me. Medusa would cut off her snakes for me. Samson wouldn’t cut his hair for me, but Delilah would. I can be happy forever more, I cannot, forever more, quoth the raven.
I am the silly part of string. I am the theory part of string. I am the incident of string cheese. I figured out that I had one leg longer than the other when I finished the tower of Pizza, apparently it leans.
I am a tight rope walker with the legs of pan, but I don’t play the flute. I am the “i” in any apple products and I am writing this one a ‘me’-mac. I am the subtle smile that sits on Mona Lisa’s lips. I am the choir in the last movement of the 9th symphony, ode, ode, oh ode. I am the feeling you get in your stomach when you’re on the downward part of a swing.
I deflect light like a prism. I deflect hockey pucks in to goals. I am a kiwi-berry. I am the talon of an eagle, the mind of a child, the tongue of a snake, the shell of the turtle, the soft and hard echo of rain on a tin roof. I like to sleep in tents.
I am a steel guitar with rusty strings. I am an athlete without the logos. I am logic without thought. I am Sherlock Holmes’ pipe.
I am a gangster without the pinstripes. I like to Yankee doodle without the Yankee. I am the hot embers of the fire of yesterday, under the soot of today. I am a little squirrel that sits on the 3rd highest branch of an old growth tree. I am that piercing green of Spanish moss. I am a lawn mower without the blades. I am a coconut filled with rum. Dum, dum, de dum.

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