When We Were Here Together
when we were here together in a place we did not know, nor oneanother.
Abit of grass held between the teeth for a moment, bright hair on the wind.
What we were we did not know, nor even the grass or the flame of hair turning to ash on the wind.
But they lied about that.
From the beginning they lied.
To the child, telling him that there was somewhere anger against him, and a hatred against him, and the only reason for his being in the world.
But never did they tell him that the only evil and danger was in themselves; that they alone were the prisoners and the betrayers; that they - they alone - were responsible for what was being done in the world.
And they told the child to starve and to kill the child that was within him; for only by doing this could he become a useful and adjusted member of the community which they had prepared for him.
And this time, alas, they did not lie.
And with the death of the child was born a thing that had neither the character of a man nor the character of a child, but was a horrible and monstrous parody of the two; and it is in this world now that the flesh of man’s spirit lies twisted and despoiled under the indifferent stars.
When we were here together in a place we did not know, nor one another.
O green the bit of warm grass between our teeth.
O beautiful the hair of our mortal goddess on the indifferent wind.
Kenneth Patchen
Other author posts
Pastoral
The Dove walks with sticky Upon the green crowns of the almond tree, Its feathers smeared over with Like
The Deer And The Snake
The deer is humble, lovely as God made her I watch her eyes and think of wonder owned These strange priests enter the cathedral of woods And seven Marys clean their hands to woo her Foot lifted, dagger-sharp—her ears Poised to their points like a ...
Let Us Have Madness
Let us have madness openly O men Of my generation Let us follow The footsteps of this slaughtered age: See it trail across Time's dim land Into the closed house of eternity With the noise that dying has, With the face that dead things we...
Eve Of St Agony Or The Middleclass Was Sitting On Its Fat
Man-dirt and stomachs that the sea unloads; rockets of quick lice crawling inland, planting their damn flags, putting their malethings in any hole that will stand still, yapping bloody murder while they slice off each other’s heads, spewing themse...