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Posts Tagged ‘Time’

Tonight was a lifetime.
Slowed until
eternity was a prison
with dancing immortal
specs of dust
distant ancestors
composing a cosmos
deep and infinite.
You told me in the attic
and now I’m afraid of heights
the same cosmic rhythm
throbbing to the beat of blood
in my ear
removes air, moisture, and time
from my mouth.
Tomorrow I will breath and drink
and remember again
if it ever comes.

if it ever comes.

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Getting New

(March 15 1997)

The old chair
complete with elderly woman.
A decorative vase.
Cat hair.
Pictures of relatives
we don’t know.
Floral wallpaper
getting yellow
and faded since
our grandfather passed.

Rewind
and the milieu
will dance unnatural.
The last cigarette
she balanced
with still water
getting new.
That circling cat
incessant
and skulking
climbed ass first
around where
she sat.
Absurd enough
for a laugh.

Watch the years roll
off as it goes.
The sad years.
Familiar faces
becoming peers.
60’s high school sock hops
and a malt milkshake
she spilled on
Pop’s leather jacket.
A childhood
of wooden toys.
A baby crying
for its mother.

Instead blackness
and the heavy click
of the VHS.

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You called –
another too little
too late
attempt
at reconciliation.
On the paper
it will always
be reconstruction
like history –
recollection
rather than collecting.
You placed the pen to my face
and took with it
my authentic emptiness –
it is called education.
I still don’t feel good about it.
These are the things that concern me
the moment you call – I am concerned with me.

Nonetheless, I answer.

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Block

I don’t know.
The water runs
over the humming heater
and something invisible
makes everything go
but what enemy of freedom
tucked under the hem of nature
makes this so?
I don’t know.

I travel in time
but not in space.
Like a stone.
A sinking stone
with water like hell
around me,
and a thinking stone
to make it all tragic.
Why must I feel this way,
and why burden you?
I don’t know.

I drink a coffee
with ghosts rising
to tickle my nose.
My baby child having escaped
his crib is silently stacking
blocks.
Each a pixel of color,
a letter of meaning,
and the shape of foundations.
He laughs when the tower is no more.

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Older Still

I met her when
her eyes were
still juniper berries
wild and potent
if not slightly toxic
the way she could
stare you down.

Her kicks ran
constantly with
her arms indicating
the direction of her whims.
Toward or away the
tides moved with her will.
We feared the same things,
and fear is in us still.

For an entire summer
she said “Holy Land”
with a smirk. We drank
to the fallen so long
as they weren’t our friends.
We cussed and smoked.
She cooked and wished
I was someone else.
Not instead, but in addition,
to myself.

Through education
we were distilled.
Taken to the level of poison
we were poured
over the snow covered rocks
to be chilled.
We wanted eternity to end,
but even as time froze the cubes
between us,
we grew older still.

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The professor ran his hand
through chalk white hair
as old as anything.
“In summation,
there aren’t turtles
all the way down,
it ain’t strings all the way up,
and it certainly isn’t
time all the way back.”
The rest of his field
was straw compared
to all that he had seen.

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The sun looks like a woman walking
away. Her pink, orange, and magenta
dress dangling on crisp edged
pavement gray
and children’s colored chalk.
She looks back to think on
why she is flying to California
to bring everything one day closer
to sinking into the sea.

Behind her she drags Apollo’s
broken motorcycle, poet still attached
to the back, kicking and screaming
as her giant steps gracefully
set the United States to time.
Amidst her burning eyes a tear
evaporates for poor Apollo
whom the world thought was in control.

He wants her so bad,
wants to control her
so that he can always
enjoy her day, her light, and the secret
smile she lets nobody else see
when the sun itself laughs at a turn.
She drags him over desert sand
and mountains, and the hilly lands
of the Midwest. His bronze skin
trying to slow her retreat.

The setting sun is a woman
walking away and even as she laughs
at departing words your heart sinks.
One breath says “I want to go”
and “I want to stay”
but you know she’ll be gone
by the time night falls.
She’ll turn to wave a good bye,
and if you’re not Apollo,
you’ll let her go.
Because that means you love her.

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She digs and she finds matter
little things like ancient games
foot marks from leap frog,
hide and go seek spots,
and atlatls hidden under
the humans that made them.

She orders a latte with foam,
her mud covered hands
wiping clay off her clothes.
Marks on her face remain
after an itch was scratched.
Dust that never saw the sun
clings to her cheek under her eye.

Would you believe that under it all
there is bone. The only thing that remains
after the cells have died. She digs
she finds nothing and stone.
An artifact the world forgot to keep –
the idea of a fossil
the words that were never said.

Nothing connects her to these things lost.
A vast and omnipresent nothing –
the fabric of our being,
the color of our eyes,
homo sapien questions, she digs
but never finds the reason why
in the end, everybody
is captured by time.

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The tongue is a pillar of salt
it turned back against command
to see its kin burn.
Before it died it saw the sky kiln
churn and devour.
Before it died it heard the screams
and smelled the sulfur
of a dying race.

It didn’t say anything though.
How could it, when all of a sudden
it knew why it shouldn’t turn back.
It felt the bloodline pass
in the fire of justice
and new that it should’ve been there
with its neighbors, with its friends.

Love is a strange thing like that.
It moves through history-
like history – making endless connections.
The heart beats, the blood flows,
the tongue speaks because it loves.
Yet here at the edge of a turning world
our tongues turn back
and they are salt.

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We
Talk over dinner
over and over
like the river
or an ocean sound.
shhhhhh.

We
Missed out,
Nobody is around
under, under
the skin

We begin
to speak in spaces
sounding places
silent faces
beside and besides
ourselves.

Silence
is a collection
stolen. We find ways
to steal each other’s time
in the speaking space
within me, within
you.

Eating
only to be empty.
Something is lost
between us. Between us
Age clings like frost.
On and on
goes infinity.

Time
the agent of change
puts me above you
and now the spaces
without you
can’t speak.
They can’t speak
without you.

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