-
I bequeath all I know to the clouds before me, everything that I am,
fast and floating,/ominous and beautiful
-
lost, no pocket dictionary,
the percussion instruments follow,
-
cut, this hand of stone,
of granite,/of diamonds
-
and roiled a bruised-purple in
blue/canopic jars...
-
fiery tints and hues.
you, firebrand,/warmed this stone,
-
"never mind, the colors blind, phones lost and roses silent"
dyed
-
for dustiness was
rusted after-shades, a melted rain,
-
Crouched smaller than the grass/and/
rotten to the core;
-
-
mud and water, served up in cups,
and cracked stolen eggs,
-
She quotes Rand and Dostoevsky a
Neo-classicist philosopher who would never agree,
-
So, are we human?
Because there is no orange honor
-
We're in the business of misery here
cold blue eyes you cannot see on you tell you
-
Turrets of condemnation on her brow
and poison,...dripping from her tongue,
-
hates junk food but no
hippie indie or neo-green pseudo-american
-
always on the edge--for children do not fear--
to drop sticks, pine-cones, leaves,
-
bouncing off grand buildings,
perhaps they look twice and pass on,
-
Pulls of cotton, like those that fell from her
fingers,
-
I can see it in your face and the tangled mess of your hair./
I can see you standing in /the middle /of lightning and gods-breath
-
Light caught eternally
in black and neon; light-boxes;
-
She had Seattle eyes
gray and misty blue
-
screams of crushed diamonds
in deserted car-parks,
-
are the flutters of reality.
Shut away in plastic bags
-
foolish, beautiful thing, and it is for all of us
that the Requiems sing...
-
She's addicted to self-destruction
[thieves scramble up and down the present]
-
and through the broken glass we flew
---hold tight to my hand---
-
These truths of ours no longer merge,
Here is where our paths diverge.
-
turn away from amber's grip---
and view my starry skies.
-
Is it good for my vitality to be so utterly caught up in you, in seeing you, when doubtless we have done all this before?
-
I see no flowers,
but purple lives under cracking pavement.
-
Might the memories of musings Hold me true in loving light In a forest of translucence, All shot through with blackest night.
-
Flying through the coldest night
Kept aloft be wish and dreams,
-
I was a product of THEIR society, THEIR world, that made it necessary for me to become what I am...what I was.
-
Breathe for me,
Sky-brother, as you sink behind hills,
-
Would I even want you to?
Perhaps I would rather this pretense was continued
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