I am not alone in this.
I am not standing here;
Soft music serenading
My lonely heart.
I am not a typist
Rhythmically dancing to
Magical clicks spelling off
Ransom notes of varying
Degrees of importance.
But my fingernails are delicately pruned,
So wands and spells can expertly roll – Full of life and other such necromances –
Off and away and beyond
These simple imaginations of a man,
Not alone, but lonely.
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?
Knees that touch
Music on low
Eyes and effortless words
Would you glide under me
If I told you how tremendous your advantage was?
Gently laying your hands
Upon my aggressive hips
Digging deeper for anticipated passion
Rustling night air with sensuality
Do you like the way music
Catches hold of our souls and ignites fire
Hidden sublimely in the embers?
There is a saturation point
Where sight isn’t relevant
Eyelids gently shut and
Eyes rolled to the sky
Toes curling in an arching kind of way
Just like the small of your back would feel
If I were to encourage you
To glide under the touch of
My well trained hands
Like a man as a lover should
I fear you will grow old
Without sounds of my chest on your ear
I long for touch from your fingers
Pulling me back
I see your figure sway to the music
Fixing snacks to eat together, touching knees
I hear your voice as it carries
Around the house with Leonard Cohen
I fear you will grow old
Without sounds from my heart in your ear
Do not take your hands from the steering wheel and let it drift into unkept edges of city streets.
Make haste! Make speed, good man! Towards dotted lines of hope we must spare no time in pursuing!
But, mind your thoughts as you swerve here and there. Remember precious and delicate matters at hand.
Remember the gambling stone that sits atop at lookout point; sunsets and cityscapes that sweep the horizon so.
Can it mean it is so? Can the limits thrive against the collapsing opportunities of hope thrusting inside my veins?
I should think as you call out my name and shatter my silence that even in the darkest of hours hope should be flung.
Despise my bated breath as non-committal silence that burns down the doors of unturned and untrue thought.
I am a so-called warrior. I am a fenced in guardian. I am a dotted line on the roads to freedom.
I am an invisible sanctity on the lonely island of hope hidden far away from human consumption.
A straightened arrow in the land of many signs, sugar coating fantasy with bikinis and high rise-high cut jean shorts.
Count down my passions as we speed into the night; top down and music shedding our inhibitions like a Friday night shakedown.
In spite the growing dissent
Of fabricated lighting
Creeping in from out there, farther
Past the nightstand, painted in dad’s home project brown
Past the economy series paneled door
Past the last tenant’s floor mat hallway and
Beyond the door that almost shuts
With the backwards door bolt
In spite the chandelier
Atop the family portrait staircase
That’s powering the dollar store light bulbs
Blackness crawls in, dancing with the music
Suited to tame even the wildest of beasts
I’ve been livin’ on a tear drop
Soakin’ in with old smells
Cigarettes and memories
I’ve been rollin’ on these four wheel
Long nights and sad songs
Music keeps my road signs
I’ve been holdin’ on to old boots
Worn through my thick soul
Dollar bills when midnight croaks
I’ve been thinkin’ of a book gone
Left me dreamin’ with wide eyes
Open plains and deep creeks
I’ve been livin’ on a tear drop
Soakin’ in with old smells
Cigarettes and memories
Destruction pulls at my madness
With steam whistles and ten year old phone books
Pages loved so much they’re retreating
While the tune of rapidly moving music
Pulsates a crimson so pure my eyes turn bold
I pour myself a glass of that ruby no label
Found deep within the dusty shelves
Of fathers favorite medicine cabinet
Sit down on the ol’ family rocking lounger
And fixate on the blinking screen
Laughing defeat into my already raging desire
If there were stars that I looked upon daily
Would you flounder them into a field full of wheat?
If clouds floated hither, where you and I’d gather
Would the sun break them free from their plight?
If all the birds sang on from their high up perches
Would the music reach our ears as we strolled?
If the path at our feet turned from soft grass to dirt
Would we still walk hand in hand through the trees?
If I looked in your eyes and whispered into your ear
Would the stars keep us together every night?