If I lost strict control some
I could prick all billion bubbles
If I left my lost some
I could remangle my mumbles
‘Till concision at any cost cums
I’d come to untangle dareknots
‘Till a guilt spilt relief
Stains the air & remains there
“Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lovers. It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of. One you haven’t seen in a long time…”
“.. A fond, old, faraway room?”
-from “Kafka On The Shore”, Hanuki Murakami
We mind that there mustn’t be dust
On those closed blinds.
Behind those blinds,
We find us.
We find ourselves salving
Our sore selves,
Saving us so
And after each chapter,
Which did us delirious,
It can be meant as some payment,
It can serve to defray..
It can’t save us, when in a night and a day,
without fail, We derail.
“I choose the rooms that I live in with care,
the windows are small and the walls almost bare,
there’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair”
Leonard Cohen,RIP, from “Tonight Will be Fine”
encased in impasse
I couldn’t even eye the passengers
just past my papers.
I wouldn’t watch what
my window offered:
small towns, and their lights,
or when slow-mo reflections night riders
riding inside also swept by.
continual inspections of my work,
a spread display on a tray freed before me,
confirmed my stall is a lock still.
Y’see, yesterday’s night
I ran nine yellow lights,
& when my dreams weren’t just right…
I must decide to just ride.
(from 5 or 6 yrs back)
It’s more than coincidence how
That “pillow” rhymes/w “shadow”.
If I had to,
& the sense to know,
I’d set dark dreams aside.
If I lied some, & thought things
All tied up,
I’d fake it some, I’d hope
For a wide enough break,
& loose rope,
& in this broken cup
I hold my spirits up.
.Heraclitus: “ the essence of things has the habit to hide”
“Very little grows on jagged rock/Be grounded/Be crumbled/
So wildflowers will come up” -Rumi
If I’d insist on playing the pacifist
(I’m maybe miscast)
I’d resist being all-too-willing
to killing time.
If I would want to resist the persistent praying
For my mercy, for all our mercy,
Inarticulate verses of mercy,
Maybe I’d want to take steps,
I’d want to take things into my own hands,
Maybe I’d want to take on the task
Of yanking my mask off,
Of thinking of thanking
Tho’ I’d heed less
If You’ll find it’s kinda fate you kinda understand.
You’ll knock the gun out of the goombah’s hand.
It’s sent to the pavement
Between you and all the rest.
When you wrestle it from circumstance
Then Do you got the go to go the distance?
of all the lies
in the air
that this liar
is truely unaware of
(is ’truely’ the right word?)
of all the lies
casual and caressing there
the air currents n
(is ’current’ the correct word?)
the stolen ones, emboldened lies
(I’ve told em. All alchemy.)
are all born, arabesque,
of an open pen pumping onto paper,