Papa could’ve been another type of man
Like a raindrop could be caught in a hand
Let another letter slip through the mail
Gone again gone again as heat prevails.
“A little gone,” says the better man
Couldn’t you have just set it right: a plan
I said goodbye into a dusty pan
Held it close as I looked inside.
When the needles dropped upon the forest floor
Little birds gathered all around
Snowdrops sprouted into the sky
And the trail twisted on.
I was waiting for a dream
I had sent off in the mail
A letter to my name
That sadly never came.
But in all my little layers
I had followed to the sea
I waited for a crest
A wave upon my chest.
So there I sat atop the cliff
A bucket in my soul
Catching all the ether
Never held again by her.
I lifted up my downcast eyes
Horizon on my mind
A songbird came and sang to me
Carried me far off, out to sea.
Desire fills my heart into one thousand pieces
Memories, unfurling as if eyes were closing tightly
Around minute memories and love letters.
I’ve concluded the end is near,
My hands have become wrinkled and so sore with work.
I will leave a little letter sitting open
Beside the night table
Where all of my wishes will be laid out in bullet point form
Segmenting all I wished I had made, yet un-done.
Do not tarry long where footsteps make no noise,
Wild animals will moan at your sound
And terrors of your heart shall flutter on by
As leaves in the wind make passing comments.
And my waning crescent turns towards me
To reach it’s dagger-like fingers
Deep inside my once well lit thoughts, cavernous,
And lay the sign of Hermes upon my back
To mark the gathering of one thousand pieces.
I remember the golden letter
I signed my last goodbye with,
A script I was particular proud of
With a rusty ol’ dipping pen
Tied up with lies and eternity
And how many times have I chosen to
Wave goodbye to you.
So I stuffed mixed emotions
Into a ball into my pocket
Sat on it for two days
And mailed it with no address.
A letter came today
To say
I had a missing cause.
I had a note
That filled me up
With angles and
Ink blotches.
When it was ok,
When it was our way,
When it was everything on time,
I had my letters
Upon my tongue
Set to help out
As everything’s alive.
Can you blame me
With such memory,
And now everything’s in disguise.
Dear George,
The letters from Salem finally arrived today. I had been preparing for them all week – harvesting a few varieties of toadstools in the forest around the area.
Bonhomie fills my heart this time of season. I wear my warm clothes and delight in an extra cup of coffee most days. Are you still exploring your art of the bean? I have started to use a scale to measure proportions for my perfect cup of coffee.
As I read through the hand written letters, the snow started falling here. Big large flakes that have started to stay on the ground, lazily floating there chaotically.
I love this time of year. The browns are so dominant, lacking most any signs of the lush green foliage of summer’s heat. It soothes the black heart inside of me, calling out to me slowly as I imagine the sweet embracing, icy fingers of Gaia as she slowly settles into fetal position – eyes flickering slowly – for a calm rest. Much like the feline.
I saved a feline from certain death two weeks ago. It had come pawing at my door after I fed it one lonely night. I had seen it fishing in garbage cans for luck earlier that week. We tracked down the owner who said it was left behind during a move half way across the country.
Can you imagine the absurdity of that? Moving half way across the country and leaving without your cat?
It’s a beautiful cat with the fullest of coats and a purr that shakes the icicles from sweet Gaia grip as she slowly settles into my black heart.
I look forward to hearing from you soon. The lovely sketch that accompanied your last letter was so enchanting. I’ve had it sitting on my windowsill since you sent it.
Much love,
Lizarious
This is my middle finger.
I take the softest wind drift
To an older enemy,
Who sighed inside a bottle
That floated down a river
And sweeped into the delta
Of rice fields and manure.
Care ye’to thee ol’letters?
As I recited memories
On twenty pound letterhead.
Till I turned around forever.
You don’t need to shed
A scapegoat wrung out for this day.
You don’t need to be a lesson
And this is not mercy stick.
You don’t need to learn my language
I stopped speaking at the door.
You can’t abide, and I’m not scared;
This is two hundred written love letters,
Not one sealed without a kiss.
I spent the night camping
In my darkest of corners.
I spent two hours searching
Inside the womb of my unspent.
I spent one hour withered in darkness.
I spent four hours unable to move,
and one hour mashed
Between a forever truth
And two silver dollars
Who told me I should know how.
I spent one hour hand writing a letter
To a foreign friend I’ve never met.
And I spent three hours digging
Into this wisdom I’ve always known.
