The Elegantarian floats on my memory,
Through wisdom and mercy
And dandilions caught in wind wasps.
And like these delicate pages
That curl around my intrigued thoughts,
I follow the trail of dust caught in sunlight
To the end of my memory
Where my lone pen carries onward.
One day
– I swear –
I’ll be milking the stars,
Shooting guns,
And dusting roses
With all of
My dreams.
Mistaken identities reel me,
They collapse my reason
And shuffle my logic into
Tiny boxes that are overflowing
And upset and forgotten,
Lisping away in the corner
With curse words and condemnations.
I filter my logic on some days,
Letting it roll over me in a
Slow head nod with raspberry pudding.
But in the end of most of these days,
I’m still left reeled: reeling.
Misunderstood and forgotten,
Turned away at the door,
Catching my breath and lying awake
At midnight, mistaken.
Too many nights
I’ve been
Awaiting your call.
Like a whispering tree,
I’ve spun around with wild wind.
Can you call out
My name,
So I know it’s not dead?
There’s a pen at my study,
Perhaps spell it instead?
Long howls in deep darkness
Play our lonliest tune;
A soloists trumpet,
A clear moon and my
Distancing footsteps.
When you whisper my name a thousand miles away
A little fairy floats from you on to me
With a gift wrapped in satin, sewn with my name.
Moments keep building through conquest and torture,
With every gamble perching icicles upon our brows
That tickle and fancy and etch out our fate.
My deepened breath at the sight of your fairy
Keep me awake, for no thought should go wasted;
No lingering memory or heart pitter-patter missed.
Just like my serpent, I’m alive with no name,
All else flickers and slithers; lost into bane.
‘Goes here with my fairy, a thousand miles away.
I access warm parts of my heart
With a soft center spot.
I dig for that whisper that tells me my way.
And then, there I am,
Standing with open arms
Outstretched for grabbing.
Open wide to catch all that I can,
To be loud and obnoxious,
To be silent and free.
To be home and happy; family.
My mountain has been falling down,
Leaving holes the size of crowns.
I look to learn the makers name,
But eyes, unblinking, stare through the rain.
Could this new path design the way,
A thousand years been left unpaved.
I cry with every brick to fall,
Towards my future, the Grand Ball.
In my distance I feel no pain,
I shudder lost on through the rain
Amidst clear guidelines and diplomats;
Hidden secrets swept under mat.
Up and up and up my gaze
Fights through the foggy haze,
For as my mountain falls apart
Answers dart from end to start.
Clearly, says I, to my maker, my God,
What has become, why is there blood?
Why are my knees no longer strong?
What force has left my music gone?
I want to fall into a little break in space
Like angels upon lazy-boys,
Smoking cigarettes with the nuns.
My open mind shifts constantly
Between a bad habit and good morning sun,
Where there’s no better maker,
No fuller shade of gray
To take care; once was into the future.
French rhymes upon my tongue,
Little tea cup stains around my working scribbler,
Two dollars for the road,
And my mind’s not made up yet.
If it wasn’t for all the time I spend
Laying in bed wild and free,
I’d have surely lost all my passion
To be here now with you.
For when the moon howls at me
And tells me strongly to:
“Avoid the day, avoid the stone,
Set your spirit free.”
I’m often inclined to howl right back
Singing my favorite song.
But my heart! How it rides!
How it holds my hands and squeezes!
I’m in too far, I’m comfortable,
And my coffee gets delivered to me.
How can I go on wondering,
How does time elude my plan,
Did I walk off with silly games
I’d never make it home to play?
A memory that comes to me
Usually sets me free.
Like Hindenburg, Heidelberg,
Like Huxley, Hoyt, and Hank.
Like one thousand soldiers
Returning home
After two years of endless war.
Like comfort that you give me
As I lay side by side with you,
I reach into my back pocket
And expose my satisfaction,
I’m home.
I’m losing track of what I once thought.
Short strings of innocence have begun to clot
Like some tumultuous rukus house
On a Thursday night stagette.
Holy Aurora.
I’ve left home to dance, and I don’t feel any different;
I’m undone in my head and I can’t sing anymore,
So please god, open the sky to me,
Open and bring me sweetly on home
In the coming’s I’m getting,
And I don’t feel it anymore.
