The Sun God Journey

The Sun God Journey

 by William Rubin


"You feel things others don't"

Finger tips jumping vertebrates,

invisible gondolas resetting each stroke.Bringing the hand back to its origin at the neck,

then swerving within the terrain of the mountain.

Eyes are glinting in the dark, as far as I can predict.


In my dreams I'm falling

and I can't wait to land

to register within my feet something that keeps me sane.

It's not the yellow lines I walk parallel too that deter me

nor is it the coming headlights in the distance.

The book bindings,jiggling locks, or indented spinal columns two fingers brush.

Two fingers itching to touch. It's not too, the notion,

the moment one realizes the irony in rushing, in walking fast, in death.

He said we are traveling the Sun God Journey


Time passes by and it moves one way,

the direction of a shattered vase.

And there will forever be a hobo named George,

playing flute outside the theatre in Ridgewood.

There's still a young boy judging the men whom had not placed a dollar

into the purple bean hat.

And the same pair of eyes on the way back from Greenwich,

fall under the illusion that his own train is moving

it's not until the engine begins to pull under his steel toe boots,

that he realizes they were still the whole time


Memory works in circles.

from the flannel shirts, desert shoes, and thrift shop sifting

In our own minds the bridal paths are left unsolved,

they are winding up the ridge forever.

Us walking laps around the town garden for hours,

never seeking a park bench for two.

There must of been an Orthodox Jew,

converting a middle aged woman to his extremity.

a finger pointing to the supernatural sky.

Words spun out clockwise like our direction, the goat that ate your hair at the petting zoo.

The cars we wished would not stop at each intersection


The man depicted on the outskirt of the maze he said,

is a Papago Indian

He symbolizes the bad choices we have made in the past

But how they pushed us closer to the center.

She promised he would not regret the brand

Courtney made him get the tattoo, the ear gauges,the long hair


Anxiety had me tearing overreaching leaves

We walked until blisters formed on the surface,

then carried our plastic sandals


Oh how the "rooftop chill sessions" only made us lonelier

Why learn the lyrics when the ones in our head

make sense?

She said its called a "mondegreen", shaping the wrong words to sound right


When our legs turned sore,

it was the gazebo that rose from pockets of fog,

In the middle

The rain funneled our conversation to the sewer.