There I am at your, well, the garage door's open, pencil in hand, a paintbrush guiding, growing there
by the doorstep, numerals glowing strong. Your pooh occasionally trying to lick carpeting
liquor stains gathering round the feet, every color that I brand her nails, such magic I see, there.
For this is not Europe, nor any of the small sights that make up the better part of
the deeper components of such matter held, nor passages, nor skinny bitches, nor
not everything I could have assumed, tried to carry on, loved, insisted was mine. Or at least bled dry.
There is a locket going about the waistband, a thumb upon the neck, a, nightmare city, a
growing proposition that discovers where I went, once the lights of your basement went out.
The signals that I tell myself upon the bureau calls. The place where I hid the..the place that I..that I..
Oh, to smell the moss smoke rising, the steps beyond the cactus calling.
Their prickly spikes matching your arms, matching that cut that pulls me near, such shrugs
inside of you, that place where I wander around, free at last, free tonight to cast sights, to be, to be...
How I could near, and touch the dials, the doorstep simple concrete
sliding somewhere sideways beneath my hand, the rise off to the right?
As I wander down the labeled, sun drenched sideways falling sign of times deranged.
Yes, these things are real, I see them through the faded black, the thoughts, the care, the
heat that made up the air caught between our bellies floundering, the many
melodies that we thrumbed, the hum along to the darkness growing round. Fighting it dearly.
The candle light we set to burn this house ablaze, the yoga on the floor
the bodies roaming round, and...and...sing this song of forgetting, this time of
insanely forgetting, of recalling the bodies falling there, someone else - go away.
The ghosts of past love affairs spinning away, shedding along, out as the cup that
holds your puss, your soul spilling outward. The way he paid your rent, the times, the
simple mortgage that drove me mad, made it then, something silly when....when...
My parents came there once, I think - can see them through the haze,
My love it lived there once, its edges winked I think, I. There is a... There is a...
There is a time to come back, the moments held, the mountains glowing all around.
There is a time to make believe, the songs we sung there in our sleep.
They are lost now: your toss by which to never get them back,
that minefield growing round. It reminds me of your yard, the one unraked, there I
stepped on such rocks, the sticks stucks so drunk I thought I shatters knees, spirits, splints.
I wandered beneath those trees, being told the pears can drop, but
tis only my balls, the tears of cheeks thus stained that, well, anything, everything.
Oh, how I'm struggling to see them, anymore, the...something, really, the
very windows rising up and above, the grey I saw, the brain cancers I called,
so I draw and I sketch and I sing, but noone will no there name.
No, no you stupid soldiers nearing, this isn't me, this isn't the way
a poor boy in his thinness, a simple gown was grown to be, I
will cut them, slice them, divide them in my mind. Carve them on the skin: my face, maybe. Soon.
Dear love, my heart it labors so, my words they fade inside a cavity,
the one the thorax wishes it could be, a cutting of the arm, the signs we knew.
I miss those steps, the ten of them that bring me home to you, the last one, the falling.
I paint what I see through that open door, I color
The shade of the world, it changes thus today.
The sun, it falls so dark, so suddenly.
So I cover and I decorate and I create and I bend the brain, but then, but then
the forgetting takes hold, the canvas looses is bold sombre, a tennor that blends;
the red finds blue, then, what comes of the mess of the day.
Dont we say, there we stay, none of it is real, for its all I have left.
Pictures of the mind, could drink them till they die. Frames upon the shelves, can
polish them until I cry. Glad tidings, for that day will come, and that day is...when? When?
Today?
Maybe.
Let's talk, lets chat the night away.
These stupid things.
There, indeed, I.. I..
And there I. There I. There I...
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