Where The Graved Go
Talisman drift design
an October mentioned in passing
the swinging laughter
borne upon the eve of holy days.
“But why and where do the graved ones go?”
Eight count decent dreamt
valiant on solar currents
A begged pandering to a crowd of ghosts.
Opened beauty eyes
the high stream.
“Just a while longer.”
must go soon.”
“Just a while longer?”
Do tell that sliding lunar joy
on fished paths twisting
below the knotted stars.
A manned door open to the whim of youth.
Down the high stream is where the graved go.
They make no residence.
or settlement on the bank.
Ever and on
is left to them alone.”
I don’t believe any more.
Esoteric remains from a populist cult
littered on the highway.
Breach the subject under tulip trees
in the mangroves
before the oncoming autumn storm
eases our passion.
listen to the water drip and drain.
It is humid and I am maddened
by the violent surrender
of our morality.
the rain comes
and we struggle for footing
on the shambled pilings
for a creator.
The voice of a strangled life
withers in the fires
She will not be born
You’re sky in ecstasy.
My lips touch
the blight of your pinked fruit.
What we need is a vacation.
Perhaps to Croatia
where on the balcony of a hotel
overlooking the Mediterranean coast
I’ll dream of Odysseus
and you will drink your Magpie Tea.
But I don’t want to get to know you
only investigate the mysteries
of your body
and just leave the rest for my fantasy
Avert your eyes when we pass each other in the hall.
I am a scavenger
muted by the notes
somehow know to play.
Peace in ecstasy your sky showers blue patterns
over the land
and I want to play in the mild breeze
an abrasive knock
a creeping paralysis crawls over the carpeted floor.
I shiver frightened into your forbidden nature
limp and broken
by the softness of your shoulder
beneath the sharpened knifing shadow
of an aristocratic chin.
The couch is lonesome now.
I am cold beneath the blanket.
The Summer Room
The summer room lines are drawn.
Darling opens the door
to bring me the sweets
of unkissed youth.
He was lost one day
walking home from school
and kicking stones
along the sidewalk.
Maybe it was I who was at fault
being bound corporeal and
by my own design.
But he is still alive somewhere
outside this room.
smells of sweet grass and its taste
mixes with the blood
in my mouth.
I feel still that cool evening wind
being blown from a childhood desire
the open car window.
How it stirred suspense and danger.
And in the end how empty it was.
The summer room lines are drawn
I surrender to them.
A mirrored field of vision hides my name
and as the years rest
over the hills and in between the sun
I realize I no longer miss it.