oldies

This was written exactly a year and a day ago today. Roughly I remember it being about people whose dreams I hear, people who break my heart with a burden my Lord gives in such Love and carries back for me so gently, easily; knowing things that make me more jaded than an ancient Chinese palace, and still LOVE accepting them to carry on top of the pile, and me left with questioning empty hands and trust that spills out and just plain runs over - thought you might enjoy 'cause it's not that bad, kind of:

beatboxed your way out of your head, of course you’re standing

still, straight, strong and all of a sudden, the words begin to fly crosswise up off the vibrant page

maybe they are bright in the moonlight?

Oh, they went through the top right corner. never had been able to make up their minds,

The way things are.

There’s a pulsating deep-orange glow in the big index-card mirror on the wall,

but across the room from this truly battered old green couch sits only a table lamp.

Take it through the year, as there is much to say, you speak

to the shape of a girl standing on the edge of a bridge, staring down at the water.

She starts. you had been afraid

of the thoughts that might have been running through her head,

I only come here to watch the stars. See,

she spares a finger towards the rippling silver points against the shadowed water –

in the edge of the frame to which she points, two figures stand only inches from the lack of concrete. The shape’s not here to steal your ideas.

We came to this same place tonight; and she’s finished sparing.

it’s all warm brown-yellows and the red of methane-ripened strawberries, fresh and

dewy from under your kitchen faucet. Out from under the clouds,

you’ve been in the wind. I know.

Out from under the sun; vision clarified in ultravioleted corneas with sharp, jellied images.

you see true color in these days, because of these days, saturated with soft yearning

and loneliness. Was twelve months only a year ago? you’d better sleep.

blow your mind and body and shut the butter that has no cream though it knows that

a very long time ago it was milk; never milquetoast.

Read me through again – you keep hoping, see? you’ve spoken your own negation.

Didn’t realize. Never do.

But it’s been another day in which to let things be free and fly and perch atop buildings amidst this overrun-with-pigeons place that has relatively no pigeons in it at all. Why? maybe you hadn’t noticed. come in contrast, do something with a vacant look of which you are not sure.

Stretch, integrate the soreness and feel powerful here, where all the lights are mismatched

but belong, as they often do, anyways -

although when mismatched, it’s hard to notice when one is missing.

In this year, please know how much I’ve loved you.

still do. If perhaps tomorrow

the neighbors put on a garage sale, and some garage-sale shopper walks away with a very interesting lamp, please tell them not to smash it to pieces.