All The Light Not Of This World
Daydream. Daydream.
You are the mother of all strays.
Like a net.
My tiny motives collect in you.
Because of the drugs I have
lost everything of consequence.
The ability to distinguish
the ability to feel and regret.
These nuisances are revealed
only in the soft feathers of night
when I am asleep
when I am at peace
when I do not have to smile.
No.
They do not touch me.
Their inobstrusive fingers graze
like birds on a wire
the cool metals of human circuitry.
I am too hard to be aware of their gentleness.
My stone eyes open as though to yawn at their affections.
Asleep. Asleep.
That is where I should be.
I deserve nothing so sweet.
Your kind eyes. Your infinite lumity.
None of what I am could move a mountain.
I want my memories back.
I want my straight-thinking head
and my unconfident hands.
I want that look in my eyes.
That unkillable faith that drips
water as it rushes from the tide of promise.
I want to be the vague language
of sex communicating what words cannot express--
the impact of oceans--
the heave in your chest when it cries
hero. hero. Please, god.
The lace in your dressed up hysteria
when everything is finally calm.
That beat, that need, that seam in your system--
so long in the shadows I have not
been warm but I'll put chills on you
I swear it.
If I could just stop daydreaming.
Everyday, an exact slew of questions
burden my ears like wax or feedback.
What am I doing with myself?
What do I mean to accomplish?
Where do my eyes go when they are not open?
I'll tell you.
I mean to walk the dustiest of roads
the loneliest cities, the crowded bars,
the alive measure of it all--
I intend to rob every clam of it's pearl,
to meet with every hazard my whole intention
to break every heart that cannot bear me.
If you must know
I go to a place of graves
I go to a place of wandering music
where destiny is no myth
love is no line
.and dreams are something you cannot sleep through.
-ryIII
You are the mother of all strays.
Like a net.
My tiny motives collect in you.
Because of the drugs I have
lost everything of consequence.
The ability to distinguish
the ability to feel and regret.
These nuisances are revealed
only in the soft feathers of night
when I am asleep
when I am at peace
when I do not have to smile.
No.
They do not touch me.
Their inobstrusive fingers graze
like birds on a wire
the cool metals of human circuitry.
I am too hard to be aware of their gentleness.
My stone eyes open as though to yawn at their affections.
Asleep. Asleep.
That is where I should be.
I deserve nothing so sweet.
Your kind eyes. Your infinite lumity.
None of what I am could move a mountain.
I want my memories back.
I want my straight-thinking head
and my unconfident hands.
I want that look in my eyes.
That unkillable faith that drips
water as it rushes from the tide of promise.
I want to be the vague language
of sex communicating what words cannot express--
the impact of oceans--
the heave in your chest when it cries
hero. hero. Please, god.
The lace in your dressed up hysteria
when everything is finally calm.
That beat, that need, that seam in your system--
so long in the shadows I have not
been warm but I'll put chills on you
I swear it.
If I could just stop daydreaming.
Everyday, an exact slew of questions
burden my ears like wax or feedback.
What am I doing with myself?
What do I mean to accomplish?
Where do my eyes go when they are not open?
I'll tell you.
I mean to walk the dustiest of roads
the loneliest cities, the crowded bars,
the alive measure of it all--
I intend to rob every clam of it's pearl,
to meet with every hazard my whole intention
to break every heart that cannot bear me.
If you must know
I go to a place of graves
I go to a place of wandering music
where destiny is no myth
love is no line
.and dreams are something you cannot sleep through.
-ryIII