As if in the ransack of time a little mouse could foresee such a circumstance, little unbeknownst to him and his furry paws scuttling to and fro about the forest floor – roots for here and roots for there, but left in a random mess that danced like bliss – as the owl hooted loud the shakey graves below the folly could tell ten thousand stories of arching madness and screaming terror; look out look out look out my friend, I have not come to be thy penance, no, I am here to hold thy candle brighter, to make thy night much less weirder, to the side of willow river and make a dart into thy deepened hole of safety and say to thy family you love them better and listen to your little mice that complain of washing and complain of chores but lead your life as you best can for times will come and leave you better beside the river and your cavern and your pretty mice wife, hither.
From my heart
I pull a seed
Lay it at the door.
The water once
Ran across the floor.
I carry only
Two candles for
Our path, nevermore.
Who’s got that hat on the floor?
Someone’s burning at the other end
Smoke trails and it’s begun
For the last of the cobblestones have shattered
Into night’s mystery, coo-coo, coo-coo.
Though one long sidewalk dance
Let it be called a clean romance
Cigarette’s burning down some more
Her eyes still singing forever in implore.
Judged like the colour of pure milk
A canvas rolled into the corners ilk
While every patron danced around the room,
Spilled wine and tossed off shoes
And pearls upon every hearted romance,
As art, given at most likely chance.
Like lost wings of an angel
Sun came and kissed my closed eyes,
Shaking little bits of history
Through my grasping fingers
And loosely fluttering to the floor
In a pattern that brought chills
All the way up my curved spine
To anxious tips of my shoulders,
Unfurling as spring blossoms.
Like my grandfather that came to rest
Rocking slowly in his old pine chair,
You watch the vista with an open air
Shaking loose your frazzled hair.
For in the cold months
You stand tall and proud,
And in the dark days
Your silhouette is my lighthouse home,
And in crisp mornings
Your tips refresh me
Like my eyelids breaking free.
But before I walk up to shake your hand
I wait for you to permit me through,
For your roots stretch long beneath the floor
And touch my home, forever more.
You don’t have to carry me;
My long lines have touched the floor
And I’ve taken all of my clothes off
To bare everything I’ve got
And you’re not one of that.
Not your wary heart
Or your passive thoughts
Or even the calloused moments
Between making love
And walking away.
This is my burden
And you don’t have to carry me.
We whisked away the midnight danger
Upon a solemn sleigh,
A hoof and breath,
A peak and trough,
Heaving the way we went.
I cannot say how long we sat
Being our beasts poor burden,
But alas, upon the valley floor
Ahead of us lay,
Amid deep nights deeper darkness,
A silhouette I knew familiar,
What any visitor could barely distinguish as
Our humble home to which we owed
Warm nights, forevermore.
Blood is a warrior
And this is on our floor.
Wicked in intention,
Wrap us up in plastic
Blood is ever whore.
Smooth charcoal edges coated a tingling memory
That laid beside a warm body glowing.
It took foreign dust on antique chairs
And unraveled a long robe onto a cement floor
With cold toes and blue lips.
And at once, the abrupt end of this ceremony,
Captured by a small jagged and a little dot,
Returned to the inanimate wall
Struggling to stay awake.
I had hoped that love would pull us apart,
Out of time and waltzing along
Just our minds as memory.
Take my hand through the old maison,
Let stardust fall, undisturbed;
Glowing embers upon frosted floors.
A heart that thumps clears the air
And cats nearly cry with magical pyre,
Never lost for a memory.
Sun begun laid all that was,
As sand blew ghosts beyond despair
An air of recollection collected there.