Sunday, July 8, 2007

Tell Her I Did My Best

Phases of the moon says you
Makings of a month says I.
Neither an excuse.
You, Obtuse.
Dalliances , and I the dalliancee.

Then flowers wilt at your love.
Then flowers wilt at your toes.
And I resemble the wilted.
Torn pedals and bees skipping over us.
These times, these skies, always the same
Overthrown and your eyes the culprit.

I’ve cried in your arms.

I’m knifed up at last impressions.
Skies in cholo time piercing darkness of the mind
And I’m left unpierced,
Impervious to being a sheath.
I’m left is operative.
Be it whole, slashed, ashen-choked forest fire,
But I am left.

There isn’t enough ocean to drown it.

I’m a whiskey still
And I’m stilled at the quiet of death at night.
In the dead of night.
When quaking last minute ramshackles
Blast and beat their way through the superfluous fog.
And I’m broken enough, at least let me see.
To see where I’ll lay down to sleep,
Where my camp is already made,
Where fire awaits snuggled in the rock ring,
A roaring murder of silence sat stoic in shame.

Cut all your hair off.
Sometimes I miss the one I loved the most.
Sometimes I wish I was a sound from a saxophone,
Born and died in a room full or a room empty,
With lovers dancing or a lover missing.
But sometimes I wish I was a song
Only revived when the singer can move the stone.

What I would wish if I thought it had a chance of coming true.
All those prayers.
Good natured and otherwise.
I’d pray for you if I thought it had a chance
But we aren’t the chance-taking type.
And my hands aren’t going to be folded,
Rather clenched.

What if everything I did was exactly as it should be?
What if everything you did was exactly as it should be?
What would you do if everything was as it should be?
Nothing, but what might you think?
I’d be a thousand miles removed before I believed that,
And I’ll be a thousand miles yet.
Even if nothing is as it should be,
It’s not in the grasp of us to change ourselves.

I’d speak to your mother.
She remembers.
There were always tyrants,
There were always examples.

And I wouldn’t even take the time to piss on my tormentor’s grave.


I loved her. Once and again.
Tell her I loved her. More and more.
I didn’t send flowers, I had no means.
I was only asking for a message to be sent.
From the battlefield where I died a thousand times,
Carry back a message:

I’ll compose it everyday, the world my orchestra,
The birds are for your ears and hummingbirds are your favorite.
The sun will be for your blessed skin in cold and unforeseen.
The trees, mountains, clouds are for the unforeseen.
The sand is in between your toes and everywhere you step I’m there.
The wind will kiss you in thunderstorms.
The rain will kiss you in my absence.

I’ve no way home.
My compass and feet will not take me back to her.
I loved her. Once and again.
Tell her I loved her.


Linda said...

Nice poetry

klm said...

Heart felt and worthy of several readings to grasp the depths.

Is everything as it should be?

Therein lies the peace.

Much joy