A few recently read books mash together in my dreamspace and then this...
Himillsy Dodd angered her God
And rhyme hid the seriousness of the moment
From me
At least the first time
(Though all were creations of a mind that blinks out at the world
Behind round black frames that make worthless targets of the
Central blues)
And Martin Sloane struggles in the woodshed
With complex taxonomies of memory, wounds, and childhood goblins
Re-arranging remembered spaces for
Optimal Wonder and Fear
This Redhill fellow inhabits a city that shunned me (perhaps it was mutual)
but the path he laid down for me (and worlds, but this morning it felt like
a direct and intimate communion) drew me into Galway
Loving copies of a child's artful constructions
A one way communication, bottled and hammered onto gallery walls
In an effort to Establish Contact Before He
fell off the edge of the world and into the 7 holes where Cygnus used to glow
Before we let out all the light
Like hands reaching down through a ceiling we KNEW to be the sky
And extinguished all the stars
In both tales, no one gets their good byes
And into the waking world we come, to tea, and day old bagels,
the warm waking skin of a loved one serving as the landmarks
leading me back from the sad and beautiful pages
into a sunny Sunday morning
while I wait
for the unwritten page
to turn
And rhyme hid the seriousness of the moment
From me
At least the first time
(Though all were creations of a mind that blinks out at the world
Behind round black frames that make worthless targets of the
Central blues)
And Martin Sloane struggles in the woodshed
With complex taxonomies of memory, wounds, and childhood goblins
Re-arranging remembered spaces for
Optimal Wonder and Fear
This Redhill fellow inhabits a city that shunned me (perhaps it was mutual)
but the path he laid down for me (and worlds, but this morning it felt like
a direct and intimate communion) drew me into Galway
Loving copies of a child's artful constructions
A one way communication, bottled and hammered onto gallery walls
In an effort to Establish Contact Before He
fell off the edge of the world and into the 7 holes where Cygnus used to glow
Before we let out all the light
Like hands reaching down through a ceiling we KNEW to be the sky
And extinguished all the stars
In both tales, no one gets their good byes
And into the waking world we come, to tea, and day old bagels,
the warm waking skin of a loved one serving as the landmarks
leading me back from the sad and beautiful pages
into a sunny Sunday morning
while I wait
for the unwritten page
to turn