Thru the Sculpture Garden
growing
the abstractions of mind.
The eternalized figures of history
"in the adamant of time"
in snow and summers
unfeeling.

Above,
grey cloud movement,
sun struck stratum peeking,
blue still further
turn black in the spinning.

Still stand the immortals,
material collective remembrance
in public parks,
in museums
kept clean from
ever eventual rust
to prove and give substance
our conquest of space
and time.

Still,
slow creeping the dust
ever settles  
back to soil
& flame
while in light path-finding
vines cloak the bronze,
the stones in growth.

'round the patient legs
of war heroes frozen,
the vines
still fighting.

the desire to create is only sated by late nights writing
finding keys on the other side of locked doors
a way found around
*** & discrepancies
laying naked on the bedroom floor
falling apart up until the point you're put together

inspiration comes late
after the starting indicated on the invitation
after the guests have come and gone
lengthening faces taking the wine and smiles with them
after you fall to the ground to stare at the undersides of things
and take a shower to wash the thoughts off your skin
inspiration comes
stumbling in
like a drunk lover long forgotten
their features still still unsure
blurred even in person

you both know that you knew what to say a moment before but silence swallows the knowing and you're left open under the sky crying and making each moment as it is upon you

the sun still rises
over every darkness

be not startled when it looks other than you remember it to be

the smoke
following
as you fall through it

a man's need for space
is ironic given the
symbol of a
woman