Tiny wrists.
Tiny rivers of blue.
Translucent.
I'm thinking about making myself a home
Beneath your pale skin.
I'd float along your lazy blue river
Until I make my way to your ghost chest
And burrow myself a tunnel
Deep inside your heart.
Light myself a campfire,
And pitch a tent.
Looks like I'm gonna be here for a while.
I am rocked to sleep with each beat:
Onetwo. Onetwo. Onetwo.
And my heart-house dreams
Intermingle with yours.
Maybe if we dream hard enough,
We can create a world of our own.
Where red blood cells sing like angels
Housed in four chapel-chambers,
And each artery stretches up far
Like a rainforest canopy
Riddled with exotic capillary-flowers.
Can we be safe here?
The heart has tender walls
But it is a soldier.
Though it may be kicked down,
It forges on
And picks itself right back up again.
Always beating,
Always winning.
Your heart is a soldier.
A fighter.
A protector.
I think I feel safe,
For the first time in a long time,
Within the home I've made for myself
Inside of who you are.

Chapter I

There was a time...Once...
When I danced alone.
In a silent thicket full of creeping vines and
heavy tree’d paths that hid me from sight
by drooping, mossy, branches.

It was my home.

I danced,
a lonely dance of bare feet,
toes gliding over soft blades of grass, uninterrupted.

To a song heard only by my soul, a melody sung only by my heart.

I would dance,
eyes closed,
arms outstretched before me
                               circling. spinning…spinning, circling

Calling, casting,
wishes out into the universe from my small corner of the world.
Then…

My dance.

Without warning, it took me…

Over hills and dales it took me, warm and beckoning
To mountaintops, on gossamer wings it took me,
where the wind blew through my hair and I could fly.

But then…
Down I went. Down into shadowy valleys which blinded me.

Through cold waters that seeped in
and froze my veins.
Frosted me.

My dancing slowed,
as my limbs grew cold,
the beating of my heart had all but stopped.

To my knees, I fell, rooting myself to the ground.
And there I stayed...
my lips quietly forming the echo of the slowing beat...

made by my heart
             as the struggling rhythm
                      of my dance
                                began to die…

*onetwo...threefour
onetwo...threefour
onetwo…three
onetwo…three
onetwo…
one…
.......

Lessons :    ( 1. ) Attraction.
            ( 2. ) Attention.

1.
Lessons of attraction
Teach that often
Little or none
May serve (one)
Sufficiently well
Deftly in fact
If well played to
Another party (one)
So similarly unclined.

2.
Attention (Ed) :
Every tilt and curve ............ (onetwo)
Every pitch and yaw ............. (onetwo)
Every flat and valley (ed) ... (onetwo)
Whorl is well deserving of .... (onetwo)
Entention (And) :

3.
Faith(ungh)divided(one-two, one-two-three)
(twoby twoby twoby)
to the hilt.

    



All Rights Reserved
James R. Morse, NYC 2012.

HUP! ONETWO THREE!

a herd of pylons
march across countryside
car radio blares Col. Hathi March

I always skip the last step.
It's a matter of doubt
and defiance.
Disappointment,
which deafeningly rings
down to my imperfect toenails.

Skipping the last step
is a step away
from envy and lust.
It's that gray silk screen
behind my head.

Left foot first-
just like dancing.
But only one step up,
then it's counting by twos.
Coming down, the same
as you do when you're high,
onetwo, onetwo, a delicate prance
MUST be bombed into the thousand pieces,
all because, (though it is also why),
I always skip the last step.

Twice. onetwo.
INDEPENDENT.
Why not?
NeverbeforehaveIbeen.
Get
in
line.
Put on your wool coat.
And
Get
back
in
line.
Dye your hair to match your
neighbor's car.
A sweet
summer
bluesky.
Drive until your rubber kisses the neighbor's curb.
Jump out and
GET
BACK
IN
LINE

The seams are all falling off
Revealing whats been all along
The nightmares have not been starved
Full and fat
The hunger marches on
Coherent or not
Always with the "I forgot" or "I lost control"
March on soldier, secure the throne, for the masters on the side of the borders that you call home, and who have chosen to use this world for the good of none but their own
March on civillian, no one wants to help you because there is nothing left where you call home and that you own and that you could use to pay us back for what youd owe
Irrational as always
The response of veracious eyes, opaque disguise, and greedy minds
Chaos calls for this and worse
Nothing in this world can save them from it
Except for the vigor to hold those in contempt
And
We may feel like we are the few, but we are the only ones who can

Macrame for days
cruising in tubes
and fannypacks
on Caddy couches

Ash in Pepsi cans
dogs n mac
and
floral print velour
meant love

A onetwo on
Soda Popinsky
and locust
husks
on the old
walnut tree
were the
****

New Topps
new Jos
new Raisins
air conditioning
and the smell of the
rain