{set scene: a solitary ivory candle wide enough to be cradled by two full hands, on an unseen table in a room with no window, a cup raised in the hand of a shadow arm cast out upon the wall, flickering, larger than life blazed through a grainy projector}
“to the known end of”
the known
how to tinker with creation
while feeding pigeons
bellies full of stones
I am
a deadman
for I truly am.
whether I roll snake eyes
or nines
or pull a royal flush
or wind up face down
in the dust,
I am dead man
truly am
so what to do
wait for that line to pass
or pass the line until my last
(breath)
under the basking moon
the cool tide shifts
for sweat hides swiftly now
leaves tremble and turn
squirrels bury their treasures
the mother is tucking the edges now
the silks of spiders grows vacant
things change, even in a small lifetime, I can only imagine the ripples of time over long periods, like eons, not here, in this urban town, the burbs, the typical jersey suburb, parcels of land measured out, a lawn, a driveway, the american dream, it seems, with gusto and plows, concrete and asphalt, light poles strung like christmas decorations lining the parade route of the daily back and forth, I heard this was once farmland or even a chicken coop, but that was a different lifetime, before mine, but in my short observation, I have seen a shift in some and none, most of the birds remain the same, cardinals, jays, robins and the like, the rabbits of jack in spades have been a main stay, nervous little critters, then there are those canadians who really love to stay here year round these days, you would think they might explore the further south, and move to florida in waves, but perhaps compared to nova scotia this is like miami down, maybe they were there when I was younger, but I did not much notice the curious minions of northern parkway dogs like I do now, little watch towers looking about but oddly they seem smart enough (unlike a chicken) to cross the road as I can safely say I have not seen a flattened one, and least I forget the slyest of them all, the slinky foxes that skate along the hedge rows and meander in the shadows, to think all this life swirling about in just this tamed space, all it would take is a blink, and nature would roll into place.
when was the last time I felt
a woman’s lips upon my own
as almost forgot
I see movies and jealousy ensues
but do I pursue
this in my every day life
do I assume
this will come to me.
the smartest of us may be the dumbest of the heart.
I have been single for… damn 30 years now, I have dated but I have also insulated… I do not feel worthy of a mate as I am a fail, and I realize we all are but I don’t want to subject someone else to that, I see it, I realize it, but I also live it… I see I am wrong but feel empowered to let it go on because we all die alone, I don’t know… I don’t know… it fucks me up, I see the inevitable but I also feel empty but strong… I deserve to be happy and mostly am but not complete… how the fuck do you communicate that to someone else who wants to be a part of that and their that… if that makes sense… just venting, it matters not it matters not at all… I wish it did… but what the fuck do I know… tons now.. but it will all be lost in 50 years or so after I am gone.. so why the fuck… is the question.
a diamond inside?
no. perhaps- diamonds are cold
a light?
a lantern – a voice
both entwined
for I know
you know
all that is right
to escape this hole
but worn as clothes
(on the outer skins)
the comfort of fur
to spurn the world
to flash color
when there is none.
we know the clock ticks
for the real clock has an end
not a loop
not a circle
but a cliff
into-
but then looking back
where might that origin be
back there
darkness- then a crawl
then a dance
then a life
perhaps romance,
and there here alone
on that edge
as that light
moves to the next.
1.
how time flows
how time goes
and we know-
but still.
2.
the songs of our youth
keep us young
but remind us of our age
and they age
as do we along.
1.
look into my eyes
I can not imagine
life without you
but here I am
without you.
2.
the adoration of men
is fleeting
intoxicating
but as all
does not last
what does?
love.
I think my bones miss
sitting by the fire
the crackling conversation
the desire to inch closer
like sun on cheek
but down from heavenly domain
man’s built, until sunrise maybe
but comfort given in the dancing streams
I imagine a bard weaving
amongst the trees
the accompanying wind
is a friend now and again
causing light arms to throw embers
into the night sky
maybe-
one day to become stars themselves
for they are perhaps lost seeds, themselves
simpler times then
though the lens, is still there
to travel back barren bare
stripped back to bark
in the crisp evening air
and might I transform myself
or forget myself better yet
to spend a mile in front of a fire
with friends and the like
dancing lights in eyes alight
like we have done since the dawn
and in shielded ways will continue on
a bard’s song
leads to dreams
a bird’s song
opens the morning sun.
this was totally off the cuff (one take), as usual, inspired by this music, it all just popped into my head, the scene, the feel, the words, the simple notion of just being in front of a fire once again… for those who have never camped out there is something magical about sitting in front a of a fire you made up on a mountain top you climbed, watching the embers float up into the night… it ahs been awhile…
the sweet sweet nectar
of sleep
to bathe in dreams
afloat on, unsinking tide
crave the reprieve
from daily plight
the precipice of this piece, working late every day mostly, not a complaint… um, ok a little one, but I am not totally burnt like I was 2 weeks ago, I think my boss knew I was legit ready to quit, even after a 20 year stint, seriously it was that bad, my boss loves to fly by the seat of his pants, and it got him where he is… but there is not always a one size fits all man, sometimes a left turn is required, but when you are wired and found the goose with that golden egg? I get it is hard to deviate from that especially at his age (75)… anyway, this was like a little fever dream, I was not exhausted, just dreaming of curling up in my bougie bed setup, duvet, comforter, thousand thread pillows the size of a Vdoubleu, the kind of pillow you can melt into in a fancy hotel, it’s worth the investment to sleep on such butter, trust me on that note, but the posture, the thought washed over me, good sleep, when you are a little older, is a commodity worth more than a thousand coins of pure gold, even though you would take the gold most days, there are times an armada of treasure laden ships could sink in a hurricane while you drift off in your domain – worth the price to see the prize disappear into the tides…
the moths of the dead man
have infested
my pantry-
for I let them
over time
too many boxes left open
too many items not quite rotten
left to fester to foster
an inviting nest
even in the arms
of winter upon winter
they persist.
more often than not things just come to me, in this instance the impetus was literally moths infesting the pantry at my mother’s house, my father passed over three years ago now so the house is quite empty and my mom never did the day to day things to upkeep the place, imagine living in your way for 50 years with no change (not that my dad was one to inspire change, not his strong point, old school dude, product of his generation), imagine the shift in your world when the administration is gone and not only that, all your friends and contemporaries are dead or dying, we all will get there, well, hopefully, if you live long enough you are out living many people you know and love, so anyways… long story short, there was a moth invasion in my mother’s house and the line popped into my head “the moths of the dead man”… not father or dad, that exact line, so I wrote it down and the rest, well, that is how it went.
Shades of My Garden 