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Work for Eidolon Hands

by Timothy Patrick Hinkle

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1.
Square states an unmovable assertion never wavering, immobile in the face of opposition Triangle interjects to disrupt a static view pointed questions digging furrows in the mortar of tradition Pentagon and Octagram, Crescent, Cross, and Star we’re all pegs looking for spaces that accept the shape we are Circle sings us round together won’t let us be parted ever rolling back again forever no matter what shape we’re in days dawns anew, we start again
2.
In the coffee house of cards we tic off all the books we read through hours we weren’t in our beds paying the night our disregard and the queen of cups our lucre We wait to see the closing play gathered together in our pack our author’s grip will break our backs we fall into the discard tray unmarked by an onlooker I’d like to order coffee but I daren’t miss my train I’d like to order my life but my brain quakes with the strain I’d like to order coffee but I daren’t miss my bus I’d like to order my life but not when it’s such a fuss The TV saga of my life scripts that aren’t yet begun I can’t see how episode one could find approval from my wife I can’t see it on the cards
3.
I never doubted it was true If you won’t learn from history It just repeats on you But all the same it must be said We sure spend a lot of time Discussing our days with the dead History can’t quite be history until it’s firmly in the past Remembrance will turn to necrocracy When with ghosts we stand steadfast Sins of our fathers will persist While our forebears hang around Their mode of thought can’t be dismissed Make room for what we’ve learned since then Get started tearing history down Don’t make the same mistakes again The past contains much that should not be forgotten Meaning derives from both beautiful and rotten Give us some credit—I swear I’d still recall Heroes and villains without their corpses in the hall
4.
No Arcanum 04:57
XIII. Death the prophets, playing it safe these days, remind us we must die we are enjoined to change our ways change as good as a rest in peace life as we’ve known it soon would cease we’d rather set the world ablaze than usurpers dignify We count the cards in the hand we’re dealt by life We’ll feel secure when we secure another’s strife the youth who wait to take a seat will follow suit we pray we don’t like to be seen to cheat with trumps collected in our sleeves safe there from imagined thieves we suffer worse things than deceit from a world that’s gone astray 0. The Fool trick after trick we’re taken again the basics of living are rendered arcane shadowy dealers continue their reign trick after trick we are taken again to speak truth to power we may call upon a fool but be left with no more than a sorry excuse while the fetters that bind us fail to unloose while daily malignance proceeds to unspool from continued sorrow we’re left to deduce to speak truth to power we have called on a fool XVI. The Tower this place was a prison a short time ago with a tower overlooking the yard a thunderbolt shattered the structures that held us no longer is our exit barred but the flash of the lightning has burnt on our brains our lost tower haloed in remembered powers we dream of reshackling ourselves to the past so life in the tower might finally be ours 13b. Death (reprise) decayed patricians lie in state their rule we won't discard from days the great were truly great folk today rate naught but scorn should be more thankful they were born we let them be while they prostrate themselves in our graveyard We count the cards in the hand we’re dealt by life We’ll feel secure when we secure another’s strife
5.
the clown costumes on all us men smelling like autumn leaves when the great white bear promised to make us all rich if he might take our youngest daughter as for authority, everybody outranks me although I’ve got my crotchets, all right, all right empty your mind and listen only play the sleepwalking scene tonight nothing has changed since he has been kissing her watch her prove it once more dragged by white horses up and down the street naked in a barrel of sharp nails vague lucubrations of clever magicians on societal rubrics fondly abandoned dismantling her appetite for joy thereupon she resumes her plod back along the road not altogether full of hope but full of conviction she should not have been born we don't in the least understand nothing has changed
6.
A story can hold every part of you a self built on extempore bluster When we ask you just exactly who you are a bit of bull’s the best that you can muster Your story will be guessed if it’s not told We all glimpse what we assume’s the inner you All the things about yourself that you don’t know When we tell you them our guesses become true Whatever we guess will become the truth To decide for yourself would be so uncouth Whatever we guess will become the truth for you A story can be everything you’ve got that bit of bull that gives your life its lustre We’ll tell you just exactly who you are with a certainty that’s guaranteed to fluster To stop us wrapping you inside a box Lay claim to the container of your choosing Self actualize before the moment’s past And never mind the futures that you’re losing Whatever you guess will become the truth Commit to a role while you’ve got your youth Whatever you guess will become the truth for you Whatever you guess will become the truth No need to consult with a psyche sleuth Whatever you guess will become the truth for you If you’re not one of us, you must be one of them This fantasy of self, we’ll find a way to stem But you’re not one of us, if you’re not one of them —then who?
7.
boy in the mirror with a cheap guitar playing for toothpaste and an Ivory bar but in my mind’s eye I’m a superstar on the TV girls line up—you know they just can’t wait to meet me, touch my hair, they think I’m great I see them smiling as I masturbate in the toilet now I’m running late for work again, again now is clearly not the time—oh but when, when? girl in a journal writing with gel ink putting down feelings—making space to think enmeshed in words I hang above the brink of discernment my quips and poetry have real street cred oh heaven knows I’ll be great when I’m dead pontificating as I shave my head in the garbage life’s been creeping up on me again, again someday I’ll finally get away—oh and then, then we are perfect in our dreams meet with success in all our schemes and at our feet life’s treasure gleams, ripe for taking but our everyday life demeans all of those grand and noble scenes from time spent curled up with our should-have-beens before waking
8.
Broken bottle must not spill must not spill a drop but I am broken I am broken broken bottle gushing flowing crushing throwing arms of shards of broken glass embrace the flesh release the blood open my heart to you open my bottle broken bottle but still it doesn’t spill it doesn’t spill a drop.
9.
Extinguished well before my time Snuffed though my flame was fresh lit For the rarefied air of the interior You discarded your cigarette I’ve tried to forget the touch of your lips but the memory still filters through Such a drag that you won’t take another drag I still smolder down here for you Rejected! Quite alone and forlorn though not used up or worn to unreached consummation I was ejected! Fingers no longer held Swiftly I was propelled to premature ruination
10.
Sunlight slips in through a crack in the wall Shadows are pushed to the side But the rays don’t go deep in the darkness to trawl And from most will an eidolon hide Walk through my garden of things that used to be Retreat from the present slight Today is blinding, my vision melts away In the darkness my ghosts hold me tight Glimpsed you today through a crack in the wall Could it be a trick of the light? I divine you inside with me, your scent recall And I speak with you most every night I can remember every way things ever were But which is now? The present moment’s so absurd
11.
Beneath my bed, a row of shoes ghost feet standing inside them remembered speed, remembered stride I’ve wondered where that got to when I’m passed up on the street rubbed off with time onto the pavement there’s some lingering still in my old shoes Another day I’m walking round suns set, suns rise leave ghosts behind, we’re moving still toward future phantoms we’re circling round to meet set out upon the same road everyday find it wrapped ‘round a different world but I’ll tie my new shoes on and walk out of the door and do my best to listen for each new day’s sacred song and we can learn together to sing along
12.
When night falls and the lights go out inside my library When people are no longer there Wisps of shadow drift across this silent sanctuary Coalescing in my favorite chair I read the papers and sip at my spectral cup of tea Then choose a book from off the shelf Passing dark hours in a mode pleasantly solitary I quite like being my myself The library was always my favorite haunt Frequented this place since I was far less gaunt Lingering languorously, no call to avaunt My athenæum holds all I’ll ever want As daylight gathers strength I start to lose solidity My form dissolves into the air Though to the people coming in I cede reality The library we all can share
13.
A single bright spark may alight in my heart engendering a flame the touch of joy makes it start voltage through ventricles arc I hope you feel the same this warmth inside me a radiance to light the darkest night this fire I’ll set free and you’ll soon see this world is burning bright smoldering joy life-changing magic in your eyes you’re one love I’ll sure be keeping smoldering joy sparks showering across the sky while around us love’s inferno’s leaping When this joy touches you your heart may start to spark too heat pulsing in your breast but if your heart’s cold and blue I will know just what to do loneliness I’ll arrest smoldering joy lightning strikes you through the air this energy is so amazing smoldering joy there’s kindling littered everywhere so soon this pyre of love is blazing

about

The worlds we were born into no longer exist, but their ghosts linger, superimposing our memories of the past over the reality of the present. Sometimes the ghost looks so much better. Sometimes it seems so much easier to understand. Here's another jar of pickled time. Enjoy. Remember you must die. Do what you can to live. Don't put the dead before the breathing.

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released October 11, 2019

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Timothy Patrick Hinkle Millcreek, Utah

Lofi DIY psychedelic folk singer. Guitars strummed. Kazoos hummed. General thrumming.

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