a dance for the dead
the trees looked like matchsticks
waiting for the spark
to light up the night
& illuminate the living
& their dance
in spite of death
man v. man v. himself v. the universe
the low audible swell of bar fly chatter
drowns the buzzing
from the glow of the trusty neon
the flies linger
swarm
in the dim light
location: a small rural town; anywhere
a stranger stabs out amongst the regulars
sharp & obvious
dozens of eyes locked on the transient
unaware of their own fleeting presence
they engage in light chatter
drawing the guest further & further in
quickly escalating to argument
a battle
between willing & unwilling combatants
to test & prove themselves
such a proud species humans are
the need for flesh to meet bone & flesh
& our insides to be on display on the pavement
as our newcomer struggles with the flies
& with this experience of life & living
& fear & dying
his knuckles strike the jaw of a drunkard
his teeth, a slaughtered lamb of a smile
the wolf inside is fed
& will stay warm for another day
worse than beasts
our lives our spent
roaming
devouring
anything we find beauty in
these are the things
to be left alone
to grow
& allow us to measure
our lives against
the weight & the vessel
we danced on the ice
& watched it slowly fracture
splintering with each step & spin
made without care
our feet felt like hammers
but the warm blood in our toes
reminded us of the weight
& the vessel
the eyes of the coyotes roaming the midnight desert looked like diamonds
I remember driving across the u.s.
the year was 1968
I was misguided & needed direction
like most teenagers,
a lost vessel out to sea,
i wanted to find myself
I gassed up my convertible
& headed west
it was summer
I was going to try my luck in hollywood
I figured it was the place to be
to get paid faking it
something I’d done my whole life
I breezed by most states
without a thought or care
simple people, living simple lives
day in & day out
experiencing something real
countless diners & sore waitresses
on hobbled feet
working two shifts
serving cold food
this was the mid-west
blink & you’d miss it
except for the people that lived there
for them, this was life
this was reality
I met a shaman in arizona
he lived in a hut in the desert
I stayed with him a few nights
He told me to avoid the pitfalls of hollywood
& ways to be true to myself
“why concentrate on false emotions,
when genuine feelings are more urgent & real?”
we spent the night before I left
on the floor of the desert
the stars looked like diamonds
burning against the black, velvet sky
waiting to be plucked
one by one
we shared peyote & saw the universe
hanging like a mobile above our heads
we chased coyotes & forgot our names
entire lives were lived that night
morning saw us sober & saying goodbye
I left that part of my life in Arizona
locked away with the shaman in the desert
hoping one day I’d find it again
by the time I made it to hollywood
I’d forgotten why I was there
faking it didn’t appeal to me anymore
I wanted something genuine
the words of the shaman
were echoing inside my head
“real is what you feel,
what you do with that,
is life.”
Between 2014 & 2015, Joshua Dunlap boldly set out to find what gives our lives meaning & what we do with those things or people once we find them; if they are ever found at all.
His goal was to find what makes up everyday life & find the importance in the minute details that we tend to overlook.
The result was a 100+ poems, prose & short stories forming a larger work entitled ‘God & Other Things Found Left Out in the Rain.’
The books themes range from life & death to existentialism & nihilism.
For fans of: David Foster Wallace, Samuel Beckett, Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus & Franz Kafka.