What is my experience
Loaded from past perceptions
Blood is the feeling
Dance like a zebra
A jungle in the desert
Beat ever pounding
Inward inward inward
She was a vision
I couldn’t rid my mind
Took a walk around
Saw her everywhere
Made her up a gift
Took it from my heart
Couldn’t find her again
She had deserted me
So I climbed the mountain
Took a great survey
Spoke two words in peace
With my Eagle soul
Clear as day I run
Into the meadow field
Far below my heart
In sweet dew drops
Never rush the heart
She was my very earth
Spring and summer came
Filling me up again.
Forever in Desert’s sun
She waited by Cactus
Closing slowly her soft hands
Needle in her thumb
Dragon surfaced in her throat
One she’d never known
She whispered to him by his name
Soon he was her pawn
All at once they struck a deal
One forever indebted
For in her hand she now held strong
Two droplets of crimson blood
I shall not live in a desert;
My barren land doth not make clear,
Nor doth skies hold down tears.
No, abyss joins the delicate dance
Of wildflowers and hills
Vibrantly flowing down antelope runaways
And into the heart of my soul
That casts away tumbleweeds
Fearlessly, with purification
Given freely by water
– Plentiful and valuable elexir –
Escaping the death do us part.
Have you ever had the chance to leave your mind?
Take a running start and leave it down there
Magic in the heart and two more memories.
Makes me wonder where you’ve been gone so long,
Followin’ a path that weaves and lifts
Hollys and ferns and lichen too;
Rhythm and your blue and jubilant see
Fire in the palm of every river in you.
Happy is a guess I never dreamt for me,
I took another train through desert and stream;
Golden hours awaited at the end of a dream,
Though I never dared come again here.
Lonely is a story best served in the dark
That smells of an old wine and gold bound book,
Flipping to a page that never looked so good.
Words don’t make sense, misunderstood,
And a hollow in the voice that spoke to me.
Gibraltar in every step at the foot of the bed;
Carry it again for the weight in my head
Is following a noise at the tip of my tongue,
Carry me alone, so I’ll suffer there instead.
You know how to check my heart for pressure?
Don’t you with those softening hands?
My interested safety seems to hinge
On your ever growing sending
Of what I could only call a good sense of love
I’ve been in the desert after dark sets
Whispering the flowering cactus chant
That left stars out here blinking softly
And now I’m lying here with your hands
Pressing up against my remaining safety.
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.”
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.
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.