Jon Horton
Jackson Hole Mysteries
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Leaving My Father's House

Near my fiftieth year
I finally leave my father's house

Looking back I see a web of life
Fashioned by some addled thing

Threads left unattached
Others running to dark places
I no longer have the heart to enter

Little sense I see

I feel nothing now
As I look back at that senseless site
Where I wove my autoerotic days
Full of fear and alcohol
Stoned on pain and sex
On what I mistook for love

I was strong in my youth
Vain and full of feelings I mistook for joy
Sinewed by hate for my father
Riven by my mother's faithlessness
Betrayed by nominal love for my sisters
Wasted by wrestling with my brother

Finally full of self
And unrecognized fear
I hurried away alone
From my father's house

A boy in a man's body
Learning the seasonal crafts
Accompanied by hurdy gurdy music
Looking to the fat lady for comfort
Aping the strongman
Falling for the slutty ticket taker
With a receptacle in her panties
And a desert in her belly

I traveled
Eventually a wandering Fixer
And learned the terrain and routes
Of the American Empty Quarter
Peopled by other wanderers
Home of mirages
And feelings that were seldom my own

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Jon Horton

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