Clouds and Trees

"Nothing ever goes away enough or arrives enough,/ and I want to cry when I think of my heart,/ muscle pounding in muscle, greedy always for joy." – 'A Warning', Eric Anderson

Month: April, 2008

Parochial

I hear thunder in the distance
sounds nature never made
I wonder if they’ll finally find me
encased in this icy tower
surrounded by books and luxury
ever since the sun died
ever since this place turned white
I’ve lived alone

the thunder grows closer
and I keep my eyes on the horizon
have they come?
I dare not leave the safety of my tower
I dare not allow myself to hope

I watch all manner of beasts flee to the south
a lonely howl in the night confirms my beliefs
I am no longer alone
gray ghosts sticking to the shadows
joining the equatorial exodus
fleeing from nothing their mother could have made
and i rekindle that glimmer of hope
turning my telescope to the horizon
I can see nothing of that humongous sound
as it grows closer and closer

soon they will arrive
I will speak to men again
so I allow myself to believe
that humanity has not ended
with me

it is on the fifth morning
when my eyes reach the horizon
I do not need a telescope to see it
the harbinger of my doom

I descend the great steps of this vigil
donning my panoply of wintery armour
exiting for the first time
my womb of thirty years
I take one last look towards the approaching thunder
the brightly glinting wall in the distance
The glaciers have returned.

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Philosophy

They laughed at
the dirt on your fingers
the everyday colors
of misfits on city streets

Fighting a sordid revolution
never did feel so good
as making waves in open air
a death stare on stolen skin

The floating dust of yesterday
makes angel rays in darkened rooms
time consumes and we resume
trekking through these mescaline dreams

Burrow deeper into the fur
it’s what they expect
Let’s climb these strands
I want to stare god in the eyes,
listen to the world turn
and when you shatter
take a breath and tell him
I never missed a moment

Schism

Those carnations will never change color
no matter what glasses you wear
you married her charm and grace
all those years ago
and ten thousand golden rings
wouldn’t make this any more real
what was your song?
did you ever have one?
when the music stops
and the air becomes still,
palpable; choking in its emptiness
say the word,
say the word
clear this fog
and clarify,
clarify,
what you’ve known all along.

Imagine

It was a warm night
when Aaron Kramer left
we had spent the day as explorers
finding ourselves, in this unborn flower garden
seeding these buds
penis of the mind

I asked myself
more than once
if Aaron was meant for this
always in a different life
reincarnation,
trapped in reverse
tardy to existence
just another cold cut
in this giant, vapid sandwich.

we spent that night
writing poetry
asking what made this real,
what made us different
as aarons pen fell to the floor
I heard the strangest sound
the sound of something immortal,
tearing in two.
a surprising tiny sound
for something so sudden

I watched him from my window
a smile frozen on my face
the woods are always beautiful in March
Maybe even moreso now
and Aaron became a shadow
then nothing
a caged bird escaping
the cage that much darker for its passing
the world that much brighter for its freedom
as i turned from the window
my smile faded
and nothing feels real anymore

Bloom

Down where the street numbers are low
and the drumbeats surround
these Viennese reverberations.
We tell ourselves
We’ve earned this
We tell ourselves
There’s nothing better
than giving up
for the infrequent neon sign.
One of a kind
This city is 2 blocks
of ephemeral shops
and shopkeeps
How long until my breath stops smelling of smoke?
Will this be any less real?