Mar 2015
Two dolls are walking with strings pulling them up, from a puppeteer that’s visible but outrageously anonymous. They are brothers and lovers and the world winds up around their feet daily. They have traveled this path as often as angels take flight. There’s glamour in being one of the deceased, but theydon’t know that yet.
“What’s mysterious about morning anymore?” they wonder as they trap the night in their eyes. Every star is swept to sleep with wishes and the world expands on their words. it’s before and it is after, but they don’t know that yet either. There’s a version of the truth to spark the start of tomorrow instead of the old lie of simple light. When your dreams dissipate in hazes they don’t just fade, they go off to entertain the maker. There’s a spider with eyes like crystal, purple cracked and glistening, in fragments like glass off-kilter to beams of lasers. Jewel toned rainbows rain from his steps and he dances across whatever is left of last night. Crepe paper demons scatter to the storm drains and drink of drowning sorrows, silk spun fairy men (quite transparent) stare through morning mirrors to collect the evening’s dramas, dew drop star stuff coagulates and washes phantoms out of flowers. before this moment the lovers’ journey was eternal. until one doll looks left. his brother’s not in step and the rhythm can’t be kept. The first sign of stagnation is, of course, the yawn. Stain orange smear, violet lined and wild, the artist’s thumb caught up and jagged paths fly unfettered across it all. The color known as dawn dusts the frightened dolls. Canvas pale skin dipped in daybreak. “Who has broken forever?” they cry inside.
When the crack in millennia spills morning, they are known. then they know one another and their stride splits further and they scream at the rendering. Words are born of their agony and the first words are their names. Tsuki and Taiyo.
Taiyo is the father and Tsuki the mother of the light that is the progenitor of all.
“can you stay with me?” Tsuki conceives want and from it all suffering.
“I cannot.” Taiyo, the giver, the first king, powerless as all man thereafter.
“is it tomorrow?” ... the salty seas form in Tsuki’s eyes..
“they’ll never know it was you.” Taiyo holds his brother’s hands out to his sides and his shadow slips away and makes the dark.
the should-haves silence them but their trembling buckles the singular road. quakes open the star field and rivers of auroras blind the idle lord. oneness is lost and the immortality of always is severed by a
cauterizing strike of endless grief.
they’ll make it as magnificent as they can. for each other. but they’ll never be the same.
“What’s mysterious about morning anymore?” they wonder as they trap the night in their eyes. Every star is swept to sleep with wishes and the world expands on their words. it’s before and it is after, but they don’t know that yet either. There’s a version of the truth to spark the start of tomorrow instead of the old lie of simple light. When your dreams dissipate in hazes they don’t just fade, they go off to entertain the maker. There’s a spider with eyes like crystal, purple cracked and glistening, in fragments like glass off-kilter to beams of lasers. Jewel toned rainbows rain from his steps and he dances across whatever is left of last night. Crepe paper demons scatter to the storm drains and drink of drowning sorrows, silk spun fairy men (quite transparent) stare through morning mirrors to collect the evening’s dramas, dew drop star stuff coagulates and washes phantoms out of flowers. before this moment the lovers’ journey was eternal. until one doll looks left. his brother’s not in step and the rhythm can’t be kept. The first sign of stagnation is, of course, the yawn. Stain orange smear, violet lined and wild, the artist’s thumb caught up and jagged paths fly unfettered across it all. The color known as dawn dusts the frightened dolls. Canvas pale skin dipped in daybreak. “Who has broken forever?” they cry inside.
When the crack in millennia spills morning, they are known. then they know one another and their stride splits further and they scream at the rendering. Words are born of their agony and the first words are their names. Tsuki and Taiyo.
Taiyo is the father and Tsuki the mother of the light that is the progenitor of all.
“can you stay with me?” Tsuki conceives want and from it all suffering.
“I cannot.” Taiyo, the giver, the first king, powerless as all man thereafter.
“is it tomorrow?” ... the salty seas form in Tsuki’s eyes..
“they’ll never know it was you.” Taiyo holds his brother’s hands out to his sides and his shadow slips away and makes the dark.
the should-haves silence them but their trembling buckles the singular road. quakes open the star field and rivers of auroras blind the idle lord. oneness is lost and the immortality of always is severed by a
cauterizing strike of endless grief.
they’ll make it as magnificent as they can. for each other. but they’ll never be the same.
