Hanging on to the hem of your spirit thin
Like those lost fish in the wake of the leviathan
Are all the hopes and dreams of a lifetime lived
You on your rocking horse heading for the precipice
Me in the mirror, brown eyes checking for the data
Forever trapped between subject/object strata
Like statues in the paranoid squares
Like sign-written letters in yesterday’s dream sky
We are both concrete and smoke in the blink of an eye
In the speed of a day; in the space of a face shaved hair
All the rocking of boats and the waves that they make
Can’t compensate the erosion of a year on the take
I gather these crumbs from the moments I steal
From the edges of sleep and the dreams made real
From the edge of the forest where dark defines the light
And though they serve no purpose
Other than random notes in the scale of vertebrae
They take all that I have and all that I have to say
And keep a running total for books that will never balance
And were never meant to be read this way.
December 2008
1 comment:
Magically worded!
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