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waskosims Jul 26
consider the pale floor
covered cold with candle wax
and other moments lived through
splayed openly upon other cold surfaces
the irreparable stoved hours
when nothing could exist
not time, nor god
only yourself
..consider the frame of mind
framed within that room
its slight figure contracted
into something further, much smaller
irrefutable nakedness
desperately pulling itself tightly up against the wall
sitting on a floor
covered cold with candle wax
just bits and pieces
just remnants,just shreds
the remaining moment left
lives now onward
but only from behind
..now vision blurred, vision dimmed
or else vision turned completely within
all outward vision gone
and
i do no better
diasporadic and vanquished
i'm no less a shadow
than you once were
..but your shadow once besides me
has vanished
and i'm left to walk the same featureless shore
as you once did
this time alone

i can only mark the tides
and carry on
waskosims Jun 29
our cat's arrival signals
the moment's indifference
interrupting the growing dearth of words between us
stretching twice, yawning once
laying on the floor exactly where it needs be
in the midway, that middle betwixt  us
...like a skilled interpreter 
the cat listens,the cat is aware
of the unspoken forbearance
alert to the closed conversation
that always exist and churns between us,
we are held captive inside of it
and to each other because of it
this from the truth, the start of things
..the cat loses all interest
but remains polite
excusing himself
and leaves the room
..and we are left all blankness and dullness
we are left to each other again
... later, we take turns listening
to the wind rattling a window
the same one we lay under every night
when the unsaid things tire
and dispose of us
...the wind shakes
against the loosened panes of glass
we always need something to hear
and we are grateful for the noise
each others silence is frightening
our own is worse than death
anything that's there, it doesn't matter
 a distraction,a small noise,a cat
i suppose it is there to comfort us
anything will do
...i want to stop the rattle
i want to fix everything
that is torn and broken between us
i want to make repairs..
...but the cat has returned to the room
and we blink and the moment goes pale again
we look and meet each others soft stare
silence
caught suddenly aware
..we have forgotten to name the cat.
waskosims Jun 28
the room is small
the breeze flops against the listless shade
the ache, the way to you is in this small boudior
the daybed,the table and dresser
           the essentials
           stage props in a play
...........love has never been so contained,  yet so full with aliveness
          yet it was not
we met and departed in some confusing torment
we were hopeless
crossing over the threshold
we passed thru that doorway too many times
we crossed every fine line ever imagined
love was becoming a spreading stain
...i've lost count of sunday afternoons
the times i met you in a brutal arrangement
the times when we layed still and didn't speak
after the somersaults 
after we completed our separate parts
in this small tragedy
we just  layed back and breathed
-a faint bark in the distance
captures our attention
what does that dog want?
neither of us would answer
...all these years later i wonder
you must have known what i wanted
you had to...tell me you did...now
g
waskosims Jun 27
in silence
our silence
we work my garden together
i watch him
crouched over yellow squash blossoms
does he recognize yet
how the vine is connected to me?
how everything grown and included here
have their days and nights
inside of me?
he also is an aspect of my garden
added not as a afterthought
but as my first wish
the yellow squash blossoms
so tenderly pressed between his fingers
connects and brings him home to myself
..my smile is hidden and private
it is turned away from him
late afternoon now
the first of long shadows lower over my garden
i want to touch him
like he touches the squash blossoms
and tell him
it was prayer and imagination
that summoned this sensible creation
the same imagination
that brought and keeps him here
look how wonderfully alive it all becomes
clinging to the vine

-quick, come to me
while there is still time
i will tell you of the final and lasting secret
while there is still this moment
between us and the garden
....before it all wilts and withers
and passes away
waskosims Jun 26
i am here
in interlocked imagery,a cascading of falling senses
a rapid kinesthesia, a  tumbling swirl of sensations
i outrun myself i pray
i corner myself i admit
i lead myself  
away from clamor, from bedlam
i do slow down
well, i try, i really do
from here,where the sea boils in cross currents of which ways
the tilted red buoy marks the spot
today it's only a warning ,not yet my grave
...small unsustainable rallies in the mornings
exhaustion by noon
its been a hundred plus days
of treading water
...i fight to keep pace
i practice and learn direct speech
there is no other way
but to reduce the matter further..collecting my strength
i will continue and not worry about my affect
how anyone might dare say
...please say nothing
simply to be heard
is enough
to be heard...to be heard
is all i ever wanted
waskosims Jun 23
-a empty dog bowl on the back steps
filling with cold rain drops
a  numbing instant
a hopeless image
a deluge,a downpour
a instant
the pummeling patter of rain
a drumbeat
and i  am overwhelmed
struggling,choking
on a slice of life
too thick to swallow
...lost in the landing
digesting the moment
unmistakable goodbye
that instant of ruinous acknowledgement
..halted
completed
                           i will love you
                           from here
waskosims Jun 13
the floors of trick vocabulary
hide trapdoors of meaning
any word can fall through
and come out the other side
altered,undecipherable,confused
nobody to translate
frustrated?
don't be
this was supposed to happen
one day you will return to us
your tongue reuniting
with the roof of your mouth
and you will begin again
to softly click
your whereabouts
to the rest of us waiting for you
hidden in the shaded thick
miles upriver
..the place
where we all first sang together
songs that flew off the tips of our small crisp tongues
tongues we stole from the painted birds.
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