I know and You know
You’ve not a conscious conscience
I’ve not a strong will
Today promised me nothing
Fine, because it provoked me bright and early
I sit prostituted
In awe of how I permitted
This practice of us
I don’t doubt you
Having
My vintage resale shop painting
Blue and flowers, of course
You see just me
Hanging
Your wall facing North, due North
Pining or laughing, or both
I am sick from the sky
Its lies
And its beauty from which they escape
I’ve grown weary of wind
Its smiles
And the rarity of its southern charm
Even the insect
Green, excited and nervous
Is most poetic
As he lands firmly
Near to me, one thing he knows
My poetic prose
Such gorgeous ramblings
Have we, he'll spout, grammar-less
Need-less, filter-less
Hallowed. Unhallowed.
Echoes unheard.
All the chasing. All the fleeing.
Hearts unmoved.
Under this roof. Within these hearts.
Lives entwined.
Careful words. Cherish the skin.
Beings enthralled.
I miss bad judgment
I miss the sin
I want to put on
That old coat again
This straight and narrow
Feels far too wrong
I miss the lightning
Come thunder’s song
You speak your language
Foggy, cryptic tongue
Leave me to plainsong
And my touch of metaphor
To keep us
It is whisper quiet
This place
Alone is all there is
Truth a mere caricature of itself
No making sense of the light to the West
Fated are we
To be fallen stars and starlets
With delusion the Victor
Is
There
No
Limit
The depth of this delusion
The height to this hope
What
Be
The
Impetus
The inspiriration of this imagination
The food for this fall
