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 Nov 2012 E
TDN
Track One
 Nov 2012 E
TDN
You're a river...

You sat along the fire.
You saw the light -
your self.

Your self ought to know
it's over now.
It's all.

Your sigh's alone -
Your soul.

You sat along the fire.
You saw the light -
Your soul.

You're so far alone,
you're full of life -
your soul.

You sat alone by my side
the fire burned
radiantly*.
Inspired by "untitled #1 (a.k.a. Vaka) by Sigur Rós.  Vaka is the name of Orri Páll Dýrason's (Sigur Rós' drummer) daughter.
 Nov 2012 E
TDN
: I'd rather be in the middle of
nowhere
with you

than be on the edge of
everything
with anyone else.
 Nov 2012 E
-D
I'll take up smoking
     because it will bring warmth to my lungs, worn from lamenting,
& I'll learn to play the acoustic guitar,
     because the songs of its strings resonate reminiscently with the sound of your voice.
I'll lose sleep in waiting
     for your greetings & goodbyes,
& I'll find strength in old messages
     (old memories)
     you once felt desire to send.
[one day I'll learn, & I'll secure myself in place.]
---
you'll grow tall in your heart,
     because you do not yet know the love of which you are capable,
& you'll lose hope sometimes,
     because there are still so many mistakes to be made.
you'll eat late in the evenings,
     because you've got so many better things to do,
& you'll eventually forget that these years,
     (these moments,)
     don't last forever.
[one day, you'll learn, & you'll fly.]
---
& we, like the tide,
     will rise & fall.
we'll say hello on occasion,
     but never goodbye.
we'll find vices to fill our gaps,
     (because the summer is over, my love)
     & the sun is setting on our time.
& some day, we'll learn, & we'll migrate in bittersweet peace.
(those that migrate
must always return
Home.)
 Nov 2012 E
-D
How long has it been--
Since I chased the thieves of all my sense;
Since I chose heartstrings over frontal lobe waves,
Hungers of the heart over milk and bread?

And at what time will I awaken
To a sun-drenched dream or a subtle rainstorm
Rather than nightmares or responsibilities?
---
Instead, I sleep in dishwater dreams,
Lukewarm and foggy,
And wake to thoughts of a queue,
A restlessness reserved almost exclusively for
A train station,
Where one waits, waits...
---
And which one comes for me?
And when it arrives,
Will I choose the fate prescribed on my ticket,
Or will I avenge all of the decisions
I chose not to make in past encounters with strangers,
Standing in queue, as well,
All waiting for the same hum and crash
In their final Destinations?

I ask all of these things, of course,
As I hand one of these strangers my ticket,
I step on board the cable car compass,
Riding into the flaming abyss.
The seat next to mine is empty,
if you would like to join.
 Nov 2012 E
TDN
Chase the Sun
 Nov 2012 E
TDN
We hit the prairie
with the windows rolled down.
As the sun started to set,
you took off your shoes-
your barefeet on the dash.
You lit a cigarette
and the glow as you inhaled
revealed marks of a very great adventure.

We let our hair grow long together
because it looked cool
when the wind
ruffled it a bit.

"I wish we could drive forever", you said.

I agreed:
We could have chased the sun for the rest of our numbered days,
because we knew it would be the only thing
we could hold on to.
Memories of Summer, 2008.
 Nov 2012 E
TDN
Autumn Leaf
 Nov 2012 E
TDN
An amber leaf twirls upon its spindle branch
(Please do not hope for anything more,)
But hope is all I have

but was interrupted by the winds.
(for you know nothing about the way things are.)
to carry me through these cold days

And the amber blade breaks away from its home
(Find someone to sweep you off your feet,)
until I find someone to simply fly by my side.

and is carried away with the breeze*
(because that someone cannot simply be me)
Do you think that someone could be you?
 Nov 2012 E
-D
the reaping.
 Nov 2012 E
-D
it is autumn,
& a village is planning for
the Reaping:

                                        [the rustling of the wind as it whips through the leaves
                                        on a foggy, weaving, narrow street
                                        the faint hum of a chorus singing tunes of change,
                                        & a whisper of mischief amidst the trees & the rain.]

in a nearby village, women stand out on their porches,
waiting for news of the weather & harvest
while beasts curl & snap from the fire that warms
men with hands bloodied from the day’s hunted.

but when supper tables are barren & apron strings lengthen
on the women who pour over & onto their families,
men will tell fables & children sing carols
so the hunger pains & hopeless tears will cease.

so while some offer prayers to the God who giveth
& others grow cold in their anguish,
some witches gather in secret among cedars & birches
in attempt to tempt fate with their voices.

they sing:
seven handfuls of crunched leaves &
     seven nights of lucid dreams—
five pumpkin faces to carve grins into &
     five conversations to break hearts in two—
three dances around the fireside &
     three a.m. cold sweats in which to writhe—
one harvest moon to stand beneath &
     one soul for whom I ever weep.
                                      & while the weak are consumed with the thoughts in their heads,
                                      we clamor for life, chanting spells of the dead.

so when the blacksmith’s daughter hears a song from the woods,
raven hair aloft in the breeze,
she asks but one question: to whom shall I go?
& her boots beat a path toward the trees.
inspired by brandon heath's new album, blue mountain, which is all about the host of people who live in a little mountain village & how each person reflects a certain side of him.

welcome to my village.
 Oct 2012 E
-D
please
I’ll ask you with kindness one last time:
do not
absolutely, do not
(oh, brown eyes, brown eyes…)
break.

your bones are splintering,
the fibers that knit together your identity
are becoming unwoven
it seems—

& I don’t ask this easily,
nor without understanding
your lingering pain:
for the same ocean you drown in,
I’ve come to know
& the same bridges you’ve jumped from,
I’ve stood upon, aloft—

& with the wind&waves; I bend,
yes, I, too, bend--
with our evenings awash in escapism
& our midnights amiss with noise
[& our daylight alive with passioned kisses
never meant to ever say good night]--

yes we bend, dear friend,
but we absolutely cannot break.

dear love of mine,
we are two branches that ache on the same rotten, fallen tree,
two butterflies with gold-plated wings that labor to sing,
two corpses encased before their time,
two veins that race with the same
bloodlust for living

[but also for dying,
for that is our flaw,
& we do it exceedingly well].

for what I give to you is peace,
& what you give to me is inspiration—
two things that fight to exist
in a world that throws them out with
itswars&itslost;&itspoets.;

so in fact it is not love
we share in our greetings,
but rather the
enabling of
narcissism,
masochism,
& the misery to which
we harbor&cling;.
this leaves the sourest of tastes in my mouth--
 Oct 2012 E
Carmen Ray
I opened my eyes once just to see if his were shut as tight as mine.
I could tell by the way he moved, how angry he was with her.
It was nothing between him and I.

It was pure emotion we couldn’t express to each other without imitating the act of making love.
We were the only ones left there for the other
or maybe we were just there.
Probability.

I do not love him.
…but he breathed like you. Kissed like you.
He was built like you, cried like you.

I hope you understand.

It was my only release.
It was not affection for each other that drove us into such a passionate entanglement but the restrained love we had for each of you.

The Anger. The Sadness. The Loneliness.
We were open journals,
and we filled each other with feelings that words could not express.

…I missed you so much.

He’s the only one who could ever understand how much I did.
While our bodies were dripping with shame,
what else could we have done?

I felt his feelings for her and they broke my heart.
There was no stopping.

The tighter he held,
the softer he whimpered,
the more it pulled me in.

The more I understood the less alone I felt.
This dismal place became less painful.

I was not out to hurt you.
It did not bloom from spite or revenge.
Not for you.

While his body did grind into mine,
I felt the pain of his anatomy and I used it against myself.
His body was my only way to repair and destroy myself all at once.

It was pleasurable due to the dream I had woven into it,
and I could feel his muscles forgiving me.
Forgiving her.

I wonder what he felt come from mine.
Relief, I hope.

Once the sweat and tears had dried,
and our bodies lay throbbing and limp
there was a sense of calm neither of us had ever experienced.

Although I’ll never be able to tell you how I feel,
I know I confessed everything I could that day with my writhing
and with my heat.

It was all for you.

Even though we did not let it happen through love or adoration
it was not meaningless.
Our souls confided in and approved of our scene.

That’s all I needed.
For it to be known I did not cheat.
I did not cheat you and I did not cheat myself.

Now, I don’t think I could love you as much as I do now had it not happened.
I found us that day.
Buried beneath years reconstruction and restriction.
More importantly, I found myself.
Lodged in between the freezing of time and heartache.

I’ll miss my innocence, but not my ignorance.

I opened my eyes just to see if his eyes were shut as tight as mine.
I had never felt so utterly complete.
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