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January 25, 2009 | | Comments 0

I Sense Darknesses; Fish-Eyed Awake Difficulties

January 25, 2009

I sense darknesses; fish-eyed awake difficulties, ingredients who yearn-spin to collide and abide by a name, my name for instance…

There’s an ancient agreement to stay up at night with these heart massages; a thousand sixteen ‘A message-in-a-bottle(s)’ clinking against the world’s largest sink, full, nearly over flowing; one drop in per drop that evaporates, keeps the surface absolutely level with the quivering tundra-hints of its edge…

There are places we cannot go because old thoughts prevent new love,

There are places we cannot go because old thoughts prevent new construction to replace heirloomed architectural renderings, which certainly cater to the eraser of opinion more so than a forty story window view of a forty story window view…

There are places we cannot go because old thoughts of our own still think they possess such trespassing rights, not so, only by the permission of those ghosts in between, can our heart drum beats get some resonance through…

Orange.

Just like that. Then a stick is lost by an expectation of fetch. I lie down and close my eyes and catch Frisbees in the dark.

Purple.

Just like that. Then a hand is let down because the weight on the other end simply needs to go so that wings can grow. I lie down and close my eyes and paint exact replicas of the Mona Lisa in the dark.

Baby Blue.

Just like that. Then what felt like the kiss that foretold of thousands more just on their way, is actually standing in two places at the same time; one is wet, forgiving, eager, and a satiate-table seating for two…

Then there’s the second one, the realer one, peering through the eternity of today, saying ‘Fortune is coming my love, the fortune teller has stopped pacing the coliseums for vagrant, orphaned discus-throwers and his fortune-wave whispered is coming.’

And ‘that kiss’ becomes the last chapter in a book
with one chapter. I lie down and close my eyes and climb inside airplane propellers to inspect their aluminum castings.

Hazel.

Just like that. There are no formalities when you’re born with your crystal ball rolling in all your veins… I lie down and close my eyes and answer all my prayers with a smile that’s obtained from a dream journey’s short drought met with a monsoon of white cosmic laughter climbing on my back, a little girl I don’t know from where, though if I had been thinking enough to figure that out, I would have missed the chance to hold the smile till I awoke, finding it there, on my face, nearly without my permission and yet holding all the pending contracts of this world (and a few of the next).

Mauve.

Like ‘just that’, though a little different. Wars and picnics step through me constantly; babies dragging just forged, glowing at their tips, two handed swords and giant woolen gloves walking on their finger tips, with wounded barbarians cradled inside their open handways above…

I lie down at night and close my eyes and tattoo tulips on the fifth dimension, creating allot of head scratching when those fifteen thousand bulb propagators wake up in their world-dispersed time-zoned mornings and find see-through-breeds growing.

Of course, someone will make up something as to how they came about, though that’s only because I scribbled some graffiti while cart wheeling up to the sixth…

Lilac Alabaster.

Very different and just a ‘that’. My body does not rage, its spirits pretending they’re playing on a broken piano when they know very well that I consider myself a brand new lover of god-forms every day (and night).

Yet, they twist the selenite knives in, because spirals seem to be in fashion inside this outfit of mind…

I lie down at day and close my eyes and see you reading this; and when it’s your night, then I am somewhere else that you have to call day too…

All this travel-trouble is just to keep this story flowing in the right love direction; backwards flooding can be a most unsettling and laborious phenomenon to litigate realistically…

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