Surprised by my feet, I am.
Were they not always there? Well yes
and so I was aware, I suppose
of their existence, as it were,
here nor there, to and fro
Perhaps their connectedness, to me
was startling in my lapse, you see
of norm mentality, or
they are not as they appear, not mine!
Not of my own design, but
I wear them all the same,
why yes! of course!
The piercing truth aparts the clouds, so now
I bathe in its luminescent source, aloud
I divulge as if quite to myself, for sure
the secret I have come to learn:
Beware those who bear you faithfully
for time will come, you wake and see
though you have been carried far
Surprised by feet, you are.
At first there dribbled little
not a lottle.
But then I had to go and get a bottle.
Then I got a bucket,
and after that a tub,
all I wanted was a sip
but instead I got a flood.
New Year’s Eve
and the clatter of suitcase handles
defying the quiet car
concerning the woman in the seat beside me
into her teeth.
Pop! Pop! The train is under attack
the assault we fled from our point of origin follows us as
chaos kids chuck
firecrackers on the rails,
new worries, same as old and
further furrowing the silent screamer.
The air is must, jacketed bodies still heaving
from the sprint to catch the train
now sweating in repose and slipping off their winter shells and
no one is comfortable
so you know we must be traveling.
Someone cracks a window to combat the stale air,
sliced bread eaten plain & crumbs crumble the floor
furrowing brows yet further.
We’re all going somewhere
as our minds trace where we’re coming from
collectively and silently screaming
“THIS YEAR WILL BE DIFFERENT”
and most of us now sporting
as the train pulls us inevitably forward
towards the future.
I run my fingers slowly
over the lips of another;
just to see.
But those lips
don’t brush as tenderly
against my tips
as yours did,
my original lover.
Like the licking of an old dog that insists you take her
for a walk
the insistent swell
laps your legs.
Off port, headlamps
slip by in an unending current
supplying the illusion of your
inevitable progress forward,
and little certainty you had ever been moored at all.
Lying in repose, limbs akimbo
mirroring the reach of a vast mauve
starfish above me,
half-hidden in the shallows of the night.
Ungripping and unmoving.
Still as time.
It does not toss
But I do
It does not turn
But I do
It does not think
But I do
The ceiling fan is off but I am on.
Though even scars fade,
though even stars burn out,
though sunlight soon gives way to shade,
as facts are drowned in doubt.
Though death hounds every life,
and all beginnings find their end,
though what once was young must meet the scythe,
it soon will grow again.
For nothing will stay stopped
since all has been begun,
all false summits seem the top,
yet there is no final rung.