The water looks like the scaled back of a fish
Rippling with  its own quiet iridescence.
I place my hands flat on its surface,
Careful not to disturb the delicate tension,
And feel the lake as if it were one being.
A great mass that breathes in waves,
Catches  sunlight and throws it back just as quick.
The water reaches my lower lip
And my toes lose the bottom.

I am endless.

I am immortal and so is the lake, the green-gold depth
Of which I barely break the surface.
In which time exists only as a gentle ebb.
We have been here forever and will still be here
When everything else has died.

A breeze picks up
I clear my eyes and turn away from land.
My heart is a metronome beating in my ear
As I stretch my arms to meet the small lake-waves,
Joining them in their illusion of greatness.

Honey is the blood of the sweet and the rotten
With sugar-scabs on the back of their hands.

Their hands, stained to the wrists with pulp,
Waving to us from a roadside stand.
The people that live on this small mountain
Eat fallen fruit and peel off the flies.

His hands stick to the wheel as he drives,
Upriver, where the air is wet and heavy.
We swallow our words, thin like skim milk
And I smell the thunderstorm fresh on his clothes.

It covers the stench of his sweet rotting bones

wind chimes and I think of you
when your laughter echos
stillness in my heart  
when you hold me with your gaze
blue eyes shining like the stars
on a clear night
captured like a fox in a snare
helpless and wanting

I'm losing my thoughts at the sight of you
if I smile and stare,
these are the things I say to you

Confused and losing track
fantasies find my mind
I'm turning red with embarrassment
these are the things I say to you

feeling close and falling far
thinking about who we are
and as I dream
these are things I say to you

And what I said
for I do dread
my own blood red,
what you know
can be told
but is not what
I truly behold,
these are the things
I say to you
hear me in my different ways
in the things that make you show
and sway
what we both Know isn't the direction that we go
and as we turn our backs to each other
these are the things we say to you.


http://www.robross.ca

Serenity...
in what was
never "normal"
as normal is a perverse word in "society"
serene perversity is the status quo,
just a serene way of looking at
things with a ****** up face.
It's reality,
not normality.


http://www.robross.ca

Across from me is you. My eye's could never be so lucky. We sit here, with small talk on our tounges.