Lovesong

"Ergo vivida vis pervicet et extra processit longe flamentia moenia mundi atque omne immensum peragravit mente animoque." Lucretius, On the Nature of Things

We have found ourselves where we began

between the alleyways and trash-can fires

of dark apartments, dogs barking out an argument,

corner stores shiver in iron bars against the wind,

insomniacs wonder up and down ill-lit streets

like the hallways of an asylum in their mind.

Here are evening’s customers - smiling, sedated -

like fun funeral flowers delivering themselves

to these zombie-houses and lion’s dens; ravenous,

cannibalistic: Should we be going in? Are you ready?

You ask, as always. Is there a reason?

When a foul wind picks up and we are taken...

Hard-lined faces shadow - a car approaches,

passes - a lone traveler with suspicious glances.

Grey smoke begs on its knees, bows its head

in front of me. The gray smoke that whispers

the world’s secret name, compels me follow,

apostle, up an endless winding staircase.

It counts my days, washes my feet, heals my wounds--

what human can comprehend such perfection

that circles the garden where I sleep,

it lifts my chin to kiss my cheek, and escapes

to the next invisible mystery.

We are too feeble to pursue... so are forsaken,

Our limbs plim with poison,

Our hearts still anointed by the green doubt

that descends, contaminated every Eden-

What relief exists to dull this?

Separation measured by an earth-age--

I sit in my guillotine pose, mouth open but

no sound moves out my lips, I couldn’t even utter

my most necessary need--

In the beginning was a stutter then

a whispered withdrawal.

Hard-lined faces shadow - a car approaches,

passes - another lost traveler with their lost chances.

All the plans I made for my hands falter,

falling breaths shudder, the thought

that a mute universe cannot converse with us

or else our deaf ears cannot -- wait,

here is the condensing and coalescing,

half-heard arteries still ticking like machines,

echoing down the entire complex megalopolis

of my electrode buzzing-current body.

Feed it the aggravated soot of scorched offerings

until my nails are stained with corpses.

If the tide of existence sweeps out

tomorrow and tomorrow

brings the piercing tool of the Fates

to puncture my already wounded truths,

this illusion won’t endure. It will dissipate

into fine residues and settle onto my lap

with a soft wheezing cough, and just like that

leave - what a strange and solemn absurdity.

Why isn’t this it then? Now,

where everything built once can collapse undone

into a dust - put in a dustbin of bad mistakes.

That is how I want it to be told,

but this too will soon unfold, ---

to be collected and rolled, as I

am bound pressed and dried,

trying to make myself ignore

these same bridges we’ve crossed before:

Do you think it remembers our names,

the silent waters rushing underneath?

The rough riding seas upon pale horses,

so ragged, so poor, so unfortunate--

there is an open invitation inside the waves,

but I will not listen-- I will ball this cloudy

aspiration up and throw it far away.

In the room, spinning, I’ll go, talking scatological

sure I heard someone offer me help once,

but now I am too lost to know.

Some days I carry the illusion of

Love enough to fill a spoon,

some days the only brilliance is brought

by reflections of tears strewn,

most spent with the painful knowledge

my soul is a charred ruin:

burnt - burning.

Remember the flesh sweet perfumes

daubed softly on women’s wrists, how they grow

in the mind like whole shorelines and blackberry

bushes on mountains of memory. In the dank

putrid heat (inhale, hold) this bizarre

spiral coded phrase of nature’s lost lives

and most meaningless refrains.

I have seen the great Vision before me,

crying, and in my asking offended;

in all my attempts forward she recedes.

I am left unanswered

staring long into the immortal night,

burnt - burning.

Reviews

[Kristina Moulaison]

Oh god...I am just shaking my head...I'm not worthy...this is just.... excellent!