i've decided to post a poem a day, through thursday. long or short.
first one, long. ;)
this was written in the teens of this january, one very early mornin'.
ps. please don't swipe.
we slept, ten days too tired
under the perfect hum of your winter hymnal
ghosts of seattle snow,
still mourning itself through your speakers
seeding the bed
and resting you.
the youth of men - eternal and wounded
where every pore remembers
that thing you didn't choose.
tears beaded along, the both of us
martyrs of conditioning
and brought me into the blue hour.
where the loan bird called to me
with it's diamond throat and shifty, opiate knowings.
and, for a time, our eyes met - lawless.
different souls, same wings.
through your low slung, level window
to that branchy, branchy tree
a harbinger or angel
where i took in it's mutterings of utter, gutting truth
drawing me with shadows, speaking:
2 reflections now
and the light treaded me even closer than the cradle of you - my silhouetted stranger.
who i met too late or too soon.
who i knew without knowing.
badge of danger
flask of ginger spit water
hey pretty baby
i'm catching my plane, it seems, just a little too soon.
to the ghost of warmer seasons
affixing me to memories
that gathered leaves with hemline hands
spinning little filly
pheasant feather gypsy.
so, i paused in your pocket sized space
tucking in to itself, custom tailored to you.
between microphone, that condom, and a waning moon
ever present, ever fleeting.
and time stood for what it was:
it's own pinnacle
it's own culmination.
where it became, not irreverent but irrelevant.
and you stirred in heavy pleasure breaths
brother bear across your toes
from that other place where we dream without rules
and don't fence our fields.
i watched you,
time of pause,
for an era.
the elegant romance
this task of absence.
learning everything and memorizing you.
this what i saw, with my cat eyes:
i saw your
summer lashes, light as sandy ocracoke - those beaches i wandered
the both of you.
she, with shells
and you with braille bumps
maps for pleading dart fingers.
flitting lids like restless southern summers.
thick neck, briny skin
tiny chain upon it
with the saint you trust to keep you. (and so he does)
your fuzzy blanket of late season wheat grasses
sun faded, wild and winding to your briary chest
to the root of you.
part serpent, part man
where your laughs are held
gathered in their boney bed of ivory rafters
dripping with pulse.
lone echoes and
those stowaway stockpiles
with renegade lineage
your call of honor
prone to surrender
the symphony, pretty foreground to
to the day that followed:
her timelapsed, flaking, pastry snows
my last midwestern day
beckoned me to stay
from a cinematic terminal.
where the tremors hushed
resigning to deaf ears
a world orchestra and snow globe
of busy mannequins
toasting the morning w/ a shot glass
2 parts leaving
1 part you
heart bursting with dreams
of a far away willow grove and a
heavy mellow chaser of freedom.