Dangling in an unseen way
You’re mightier then a spider,
You’re like a cut
Deep in a vein
Unable to stop its let.
And just as cool
You sink your claws
Into some juicy skin
You’ll let go your hold
When, relentlessly your pulled
Off such succulent skin.
If I was just a better man
I’d have made a little change;
Words still spoke echo loud
Instead it’s drugs that choke.
I have a mind filled of veins
Tracks leading Hollywood
Straight to Reno, desert rose –
And it’s a clear night tonight.
Blackness of a heart murmur
Every shadow induces blur
That silhouette each mystery
Like whispering dust amidst a dream.
“Goodnight my well worn boots,
I’ll be sleeping in tonight.”
I’ve grown accustomed to leaves turning my memories from fresh to curled, a well understood paradox that changes the tide so romantically it hurts like the small spots beside the bulging veins growing inside.
My smile has grown lines, my heart has extended its beats, my hearing has begun to dance with angels upon the dead leaves blowing along the roughly trampled ground – are these our memories we have yet to experience, or have they been forgotten and left to dissolve into earth?
So I crouch down low and embrace the softly blowing wind that helps me to see my passing time I used to think I loved, I used to want to love, so here I’m hurting from spatial infrequencies that cup my involuntary spasms from underneath the table and remind me to forget to itch the pain.
Does this leaf know it crumbles within my palm so slowly softly? Did it reach for me in a pure moment of thought, expecting my return upon amber wings of a sun soaked day like an emotional Prometheus on a personal mission.
Then, like the ashes of memories crumbling in scaled hands of our Phoenix, so too shall sun rise again over the horizon of a small family farm to bring with it a wet spring full of insight and gratitude that runs the width and depth of a heart shaped leaf settling softly upon a well worn path of insight.
What would it feel like to have your neck in my lips
Your skin so close to my heartbeat.
Would your eyes look up at mine
From the top of your conscious gaze?
Would it be your fingertips or mine
Tracing entangled veins, tender areas
Upon a dreamscape of freckles and moles
A back opening up like hidden pages of a precious diary.
Would we’d twist and roll
Like two logs in a well kept fire
Burning as slow as we could
So each new ember could linger upon our tongues?
Would sensations erupt here?
Down our traced spines
While our roots began to slowly grow tighter
In a full surrender to our nature.
You’ve become the edge of resonance
Reason I’ve forgot my chance
I’ve begged you once before
Now I’ll scratch down that door
Original seduction going on
Through and through my veins
Dancing down a hall of reverence
This is a heart attack, baby
This is our last romance.
So you sat there guiding me home
From the head, a Priestess’ chair
Booming towards climax on
A loudspeaker of ancient worship
Cold stones on my wishing knees
Like a glass of white wine
Condensation on my mind
And the moon breaks through calmly
Resonating through halls of a silent home.
Restless wrestling into oblivion
Spiders crossing midnight’s hearth
Locomotives blaring alarms
With an overused burden
Tucked deep inside a minor piano chord
Snapshot time frame over zoned
Freshly unground inside an attitude
Crawling blue veins starving
Window forever fogging
Death knocks at Love’s rusty gate
Salt water streaking pant cuffs
Boot prints trailing off
When I was a little lad
I can remember quite vividly
How I’d run around in wool:
Jackets, mittens, and a toque.
Rosy cheeks would rush between
Piles of raked leaves
Exploding as a shaggy dog may
Tongue half way to the ground.
I remember putting my nose
Pressed right to the ground,
Smelling dirt and grass
And observing in minute detail
Leaves turning from green to brown
Crackle them along veins
Once so vibrant, so alive, fresh
Now so similar to the dirt
Squished between my fingers.
Busy in the dizzying mirth
Of all such decay.
Here, I would stay,
Madly fascinated with stacked flower pots
Textures of clay now everywhere!
From where did they come?
Every Autumn was fun,
Chopped logs and canning jars,
Hockey sticks and Halloween,
Snow banks and toboggan pulls.
I can remember the dying sun.
I’ve got anger seeping into my blue blood veins
Letting animosity fuel this deep inside fire
This isn’t dragging me down, boy, hell no.
For the sky’s calling me higher then high.
This is a lesson of life with a cruel world twist,
But no man’s heart has ever been softer
Nor shall erosion get at it’s strength.
No, this is a quest in growth,
With a battle-cry ringing out in cooling night air.