Memory is an angel, let go
Dive to depths unknown
Wisdom of ten thousand, let go
Come alive great unknown.
Breathe in deep so holy, let go
Be alive, sprouting seed blossom
With vision, with answer, let go
Have mercy memory blossom.
Feel love more each hurt, let go
Give truth sweetly home
In a field, let go
Have mercy, come alive, get home.
Holding on to a memory
Like a rainy afternoon
Through a window.
An oblique vase casts
Two shadows upon its inanimate post:
One small shadow from the heavily diffused daylight,
The other, much larger
From the pulsating heart
Laid bare upon the table.
Heavy splatters pointing fingers
In every direction
And a wooden chair sits overturned,
Too cold to stoke the fire.
My human memory lays awake at ungodly hours
Where you never let me know
I’m not going to play the piano any more
My fingers worn, nails are torn
Sending home the witness here
Messenger with another score
To bring at last, to bring me more.
I woke up nowhere fast
Speedball to Portugal
A painful memory state
Sin on my mother name
Let’s make a peaceful game
Nineteen seventy eight
Luxury automobile
And I am filled with golden rays of sun
Nurturing my breastfeeding heart
So I didn’t check my baggage
Left my panties in my purse
Kept the door behind me open
And kissed deeply.
– afterthought –
The man I left I had become
On the road and in my head
Aeroplane has come again
Touchdown I’m not the same.
Walking past a darkened window
About my business of the day
I caught a glimpse deep inside
That sent me far away.
I shuddered at the thought upon
My furrowed brow, so cold
A memory of a locked trunk
I had believed far away.
Oh torment, why thou doth attack me
In my daily sugared tea
Leaves me holding secateurs
A photograph from far away.
There then rests thy saving grace
A cutout tacked to thee wall
A guillotine for my dancing fingers
Upon darkness far away.
It’s ok that we cut down these trees for warmth
Let’s not get upset about our mountain
Turned crater, shipped to the moon,
Our water is a good memory, a clean memory
A clean memory for my dry lips
Afraid of this purple water
Maybe my dinosaur bones will take me home
To a land full of ten year old trees
Where water flushes the land clean
No more dirty top soil: eroded,
Home where the magical golden clouds
Hover just above the skyline, stinking
And water is just slightly brown
Mycelia? No, my bill fold needs more dinosaur bones
To sink into these fresh water lakes
Chopsticks, chopsticks, chopsticks trees
Get these poles off to the mill
Down that road of rubber and oil
More dinosaur bones and I’m ready to kill
Floating at 70 miles an hour
In plastic rocket ships, towing plastic bricks
And you there, strange looking person
How many toes do you have? You’re not one of us
Your skin is funny and your smell’s different
Let me see your papers that say many things
I don’t believe you can grow your beans here
See, my dead trees and stretched metal rings
Say: ‘NO TRESPASSING’
Get out, leave us alone
You’re filling us with lies
Unless you’ve got tits, beers, football, and guns
Money’s for me, and less of you.
Would you be a heart that will call out?
Shoes so familiar
Like eyes closed into sunshine,
And memories that float into this blank space –
Too happy to change it –
For we’ve started to understand
That tomorrow never comes,
And all we can hold on to
Is the ball clanging around wildly
Inside what we close our eyes to guard against.
This isn’t a memory,
This is pure unabashed and secret dreaming…
A love that screams to come out,
And I’m walking through the madness
With a hope to one day find my way out.
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 ok.
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.
I work days memories
Into a broken bone
To teach me well
To be going home
Just to believe
Yet I believe
Sin
I am ever growing thin
For in some time
I’ll be ’round
To have another try.
I think a stranger walks away
Knowing from all a little more
Every time he steps outside
And leaves behind his mopped floor.
I think a parent walks towards
The object of themselves
To feel attachment in everything,
Mind, body, spirit, and soul.
I think a lover pulls towards
Sweet nectar of every fruit
To behold grace, to sweetly ignite,
Set fire to burn the loot.
I think a friend never knows
What brings them back again,
And if they do, they’re surely reckless
For nothing stays as memory remains.