At the highest moments,
In the kettling tremble of their cusp,
The spirit wants to leave time
And perceive things left motionless
In perfect aching splendor.
Tag: poem
Life seems sweet in other worlds,
Ripe with fungal dew in this one.
Bravery is facing the fungus and making it home,
Ignoring the sweet thyme scent of other worlds.
Life is more real here or there,
But not in the fight between the scent and the dew.
In the gutter
In the gutter
was a silver CD,
“To Lativa”
Handwritten
on its side.
In the gutter
was a heart discarded
by Lativa,
while driving by.
Today I saw a CD in the gutter and this story walked into my brain and wouldn’t stop yammering. So here it is.
Having been untested,
I assumed I was strong.
Having been tested,
I was wrong.
I always believed in you.
In a particular future.
I hadn’t met you.
I just knew you were part of the sequence of my life.
But the moments kept slipping away.
And the time never arrived.
Fate never sought out our meeting.
And I never looked.
And then the doubts began to echo in silent places.
Uncertainty slipped out of the future,
And into the my life.
Denial of doubt began screaming,
Hiding in the denial of the belief.
But the mobius loop of denial eventually broke.
And now my fated future is recognized as an illusion.
Now that future is merely a world visited and not lived in.
Now my escape is fantasizing about you,
A man who never came.
Because he was never supposed to.
I bought an idea
It was shiny in someone else’s head
But in mine
it turned to molasses and ash.
You can burn
the molasses and ash
and try to make it work.
But it’s only energy
It’s not mass
And mass is the stuff of life.
In the middle of the night
They cry, those who are awake late at night.
Things are too broken to fix.
The empty is too large to fill.
The lonely is too familiar to change.
The purpose is too lost in the dark.
The night is for sleep.
It shows the awake why.
In horrific terrible detail.
There is a platform in a distant land
It has views of the whole of my life,
Subtle and complex.
Symphonies can be conducted there.
Entire beautiful worlds can unfold in the hidden mathematics of musical conduits
But I am here.
There is no found road to there.
There is only here, with the walls that vanish into the sky
And the idea of a platform in a distant land
Where symphonic life is possible.
It's a Thought 