Fallen from my life,
this surreal specter
who tempered my heart
in words of love,
undressed my soul
with the eyes of an artist,
who beheld me in my totality.
The kisses before dawn,
in between dreams,
I'll miss those spots in the dark
where soft lips used
sonar for closed eyes,
and nude warm skin
which once begged us
to bed till noon
no longer clings.
How cold to sleep alone.
A solo light in a dark room
with her shadow still on the wall,
and an indentation in the bed
where I had pressed her down
to bite her neck,
our passion lingers.
Our love loiters in
the walls of my atria,
with every beat reminding
me of how our love
turned my blood into hot wine,
but now I drink our love alone
My blood toasting to the
shadow on the wall.
Nervous. Boot heels click clack up steps. Walk around back.
Step in. People in pockets everywhere. Swerve straight to cooler.
Take a beer. Cracks open with crisp click. Drink drink drink. Ellipse of friends block out world.
Finish beer. Talking a little louder now. Confidence enough to walk to cooler
alone and grab more beers. See Steph and stop to chat. Move on. Keep on drinking the whole way back.
Two and a half beers and I’m starting to feel it. The excitement, the loosening of social limits. The loosening of myself. Boy whose name starts with a “C” but I just can’t remember starts talking to us. He’s kind of cute.
My fourth beer drains down my throat and I’m laughing at a joke. I’m friendly, people are friendly. The world is all kindness.
My sixth(and three fourths) beer in my hand, my head starts to droop and my hips are swaying of their own accord. It’s like the sky has puppet strings, twisting me side to side. The beat controls me, the world whispers my movements. Who whispers to the earth is beyond me.
…am I on my seventh or my eighth beer? People walk off to dark corners, hands on hips and breasts and chests. Still I dance somewhere in the vast dim basement. Still I twirl, rhythm gone but gravity still clinging to the movements.
But where am I? What am I doing here on this dance floor, on this city-planet floating or falling or patiently waiting on the ice-slicked footsteps of space? The world is spinning as it pirouettes around the sun, the sun circling a superstar, that star swirling around the center of the galaxy, spinning like the top in the rest of the full dark silk of space, stars clapping and nebula soaring and supernovas shattering, guests all to the raves of light years. I dance on earth’s doormat drunk and spinning, feeling a giant in my world and a broken bottle in the worlds of others. Oh god, in the words of that song that’s beating in the bones of the earth and the air in my lungs, can we get much higher?
Those few shy sun rays
That fill the saddest valleys
With the grace of their warmness
Are not aware of the joy they bring when
They steal their way in from the 70's clouds
White, grey and dark as the night
Choked by the rage of the stormy skies
Putting up with our accusing eyes
Blaming them for this furious weather
Not knowing that they're under the pain and pressure
Of the scrunchy lightening tearing them up like a whip
Few of them survive while others slip
Between the hands of the mad forces pushing them to cry
Yes, they boil with the urge to pry
As raindrops ,as cold as the heavens' heart,
With the demons pressing "restart",
Soak us with the filthy rain
Of this silly, slavering game
Every round that a devil gains
And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, "Speak to us of
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you
with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that
that runaway's life once again felt
cut short of finding new home
instead a odyssey
of heart and mind forged
inside this extended mull
knowing no end
..where the land petered out
narrowing to nothing
where cold tides
always running in and out
on top of each other
and are hard to tell apart
they don't matter here
unattended thin stretch
he stays brooded upon
allowing him to run no further
..his unfolding life
into the swift gulf stream
pulling him down into the rip
one day it is as dangerous as hell
the following day
becoming less treacherous
where all his visions can toss and roll
calmly out to sea
something either ended or began here long ago
but i don't remember which
but it is enough to just be
he says with half a care
his voice a swell of low tones
old as the atlantic now
looking back over his shoulder
he is reconciled to all the other places
that might have been
just as remote
of a possibility
as this one his life places in
but the runaway will always be here
as perpetual as the shift in the dunes
that purple silhouette again
up beach, following the sunset
as far as it can go
my shattered heart.
Caught in a crossfire
confused with desire
out of focus, a rush
longing for touch
two paths, which to choose
left or right
stuck in a plight
so very confused about what is right
Hope is foolish and love makes you blind, you seem to be out of time.