Cycle

"I think the life-cycle is all backwards" -andy rooney

 

                    it further away, already

Everything that’s good is gone

The ash of the sunstorm left around me is a velvet blanket

Waiting for its sweet missing children, bone white

And I

I am an agent of its blue weakness

Hovering over, hesitant and confused

Iridescent

Light as a tiny feather

Discarded in flight

Don’t send

 

                    me away to where I can’t pray anymore

To where I can’t see the moon

And can’t feel the lighting-striking-stream alive in my dreams

Flowing hard in my veins

Hold my green, flowering hands up before me

The fertile cradles of a miasma of limpid sorrow

Why won’t it grow?

I whisper to it to bring me relief from my congealing loneliness

Maybe the unwalked, sunlit hallways of my lucid mind

Are too magnetic to the dust of my isolated nightmares

Like a thunderstorm

Driving down the heat, the micro-detail of an animal’s eyes

Black magic-8 bay windows into a world you

Just

Barely miss

On your way to the locked door

Keeping you from the last home

That ever saw past the shadows on your face

To the sorry, beating battery you spit-shine to keep alive.

Don’t send

 

                    that letter

honey,

We don’t know where she could be

Listen to those echoes, peeling at the corners but still stuck

To the edges of your consciousness

You little rebel, always playing to win

Go to your

Fervent hot red-blooded seems so passionate but really she’s just looking for a way out

you have to understand

Room

Don’t send