Alone I sat
Atop the ol’ cliff
Atop me wise mountain
A hand touched my shoulder –
Sweet emotion I did feel –
A Saint in a brown robe.
With my emptiness
Leading me over deserts
Clouds and the sea,
I was a whisper
Lost in memory
And wind was my friend.
She, we was three,
We sat in our moments
Though neighbours we became.
Alone I sat
Whisper me once silence more
I have a golden iron
Wrack my brain into sweet depths
Let thee mine, forever.
Then why doth evening break again
With no leopards at my back?
I’ve given over each succulent
A tender touch shall remain
For my heart leaps with each raindrop
A flood, or desert storm.
You know, it’s ok.
It doesn’t matter that the sky seems to fall when you stretch your eyes wide at the beginning of a new day. It doesn’t matter that the tangle in your heart matches the tangle of your long, curly, brown hair drooping about your itchy nose as you fling from side to side with a worn out cactus shirt reaching down to the same legs you rest your morning coffee on.
I’ve found a reason that doesn’t rely on these silly momentary things. I’ve found the silk road, pock marked by moths with an unsettling history that left a lot of sad pages in the brown covered diary I’ve never re-read. I’ve begun to maneuver this silk pressing just as I would walking through busy streets or desert, dry mouthed and heart fleeting as beats reverberate off of every single thought.
It’s a revolution that cannot get taken away, it’s the dull side of a newly sharpened axe. How many rows have you planted to become the star lit sky we all look up to; arms are better for hugging then the cold glass walls modern giants embed their soldiers within.
You’re not the only one with down turned memories of what we could never see, never hear, never even share from the distance we watch each other from – but our morning smells seem to remind us of nothing but the closeness we have; but evening silence is a feeling we so easily forgive.
It’s ok, and I’m never really very far.
She’s become a rich thud
On the inside of my stiff rib cage,
A desert dweller
Wrapped in a long scarf
But wind torn.
Her footsteps stretch from
Slightly blurry horizon lines
To a place not far from me,
Not too close.
One step behind
One step ahead.
So the dust rolled on
And my footsteps I would have liked
To trace back my heart steps
Casually covered over
With waves I vaguely recognized,
Which feigned my heart
Like a sticky leaf
To the inside of my rib cage.
Remember that feeling as we swept off the sheets?
Placing delicate fruits aside for passionate love
Amid the sweet summer’s breeze
Goodnights and long days fold our hearts away
Sliding the time carefully amongst the wrinkled back pages of our hearts
Crawling carelessly across the barren desert
Scratching away like ravenous fowl
The knees of our plight, the oiled and trusty hinges
Leading the battle march forth
Gravitating back to that passionate distillery
We remember from a day long passed
Move on handsome soldier
Passion changes, lust morphs, love grows
Your poems that crisscross across the edges of my face
Make me feel like the angels have descended
Deep down within the glory hold of the champions heart
Sweet songs emanate out from the edges of sanity
Calling me closer to swim amongst the water lilies
The pond grows thin here, shallow waters and bright reflections
But along the other edges of my face
I see the enemy that crawls slowly closer
I remind him of the fortune that seeps down the drain
While I wash my face in the mornings hour
Now here, like the lost words of a lovers sweet embrace
Like the tiny footsteps that makeup the dust paths across the desert
I fall carelessly in pattern as I saunter along this path
I let the slow beds spoil their innocent laughter
With hands touching hands, faces touching faces
Elbows coming inwards in a bitter withdrawal
Like ghosts that see their reflection one last time
All too short and all to sweet and all too massive
Nobody can really understand that which hasn’t been told
We all feel from within the distance that doesn’t lay the crackers down
Little paths to find their way home after the soldier has been caught
Sing now in the morning of the next phase of life
Sing now as the passive monsters blow out the landscape: serene
Sing along thy empty beaches as they float on home towards the setting sun
Sing on now for the ones that hold their hands out in mercy
Crying after the last golden rays escape the tired pillow’s eyes
Holding onto the blankets that will not let go now