Piece of some screenplay.
Hoped it was a script, I did.
But no — it’s your life.
Gone the whimsy
The ubiquitous hearts
Giving hope
One no longer affords
Service for twelve
Seating for many
Crystal and silver
For what wedded purpose
Some gardens
A book nook
Less kitchen ingredients
A box where dreams are shelved
One closet
One pillow
A window facing east
Nothing at all evidencing two
Put it all out there
Graffiti the walls of all the world with all the goodness you can possibly stuff into your every carbon footprint
Yes, your every breath
Send it marching onward, channeled outward
With unabashed hope
With unrealistic expectation, yet with none at all
Believe some force shall, some being must
Carry it all straightaway
To the doorstep, that heart of the other
Knock it will, but know
There may be no answer
But the walls, the world, the carbon, that doorstep
That heart
Needed your work nonetheless
So you remain the same
I’m speaking to You
I was looking forward to
Crazy, crazy nights
I won’t be provoked
A lonely man once said
By her solemn words, as Cupid’s arrow flying, from those lips he lived for to kiss
Of her, his thoughts were consumed
I won’t be convinced
He’d determinedly decided
By her clean heart, the last of its species dying, from those feet he’d planted in defiance
Of what it is to be loved
Say something here and now to my writer’s eyes and heart. Tell me something mystical or bizarre about yourself. Share anything that will be cathartic for you, or will blow my mind. Enlighten me.
Post your own most favorite photo or other personal work of art.
Write a short story here, and I’ll collaborate and finish it with you.
Or, finish mine:
“Oh, how entirely good it is to be this aged age, having had all the conversations with all the different girls and women who I have been throughout these years! I know who I am, I know what I want, and I know what I am unwilling to do to achieve it. The beautiful mystery that remains is this: What magic-like means are out there in the world that I may take in order to manifest what I want?”
On look out
Why, I?
Wanting her, Liberty
Freedom from all the ways I’ve done her wrong
Or forgiveness
Her eyes, corroded-coppery
Bore one capital “L” unto mine skin
“A Mighty Woman,” I was warned
And so I came, tired
And she welcomed me
And I extinguished her, still
That native language
A foreign-love affair
A promise to live
Always and ever
For the first time
After all those years
Best friends building a home on a hill
Perfect ingredients grown in a garden
Kitchens and dance floors, garages and road maps
Weary-strong hands holding fast in the night
You talked that talk
My eyes were
Just at peace
Found their home
Enthralled
Candycane-swirls
Looking at you
Looking at her
Your eyes were
Far away
Some new home
So my eyes were just
Just and at peace

It is saddening
how much damage he can do
‘fore she stops caring.
LisaRosier.com 