A Book of Alway

Filed in Gather Writing Essential by on August 5, 2009 0 Comments

 

 

 

 

Dastardly their chapters in the rafters of the worlds,

capturing the matter that was scattered by their whirls…

 

 

 

 

she’d crawled atop a mountain when she found him in a crowd,

his mouth chapped and gnawed to its rawness (this called her).

 

-she more launched an assault than aught else,

and saw her lost Self in his thoughts–

flew to him; bruised him, fierce–

piercing her new student’s ears

with a croon and nipping tooth.

 

 he was moved, awed, and appalled.

 

 she fled, appalled and awed…

 

 

she sought help with the soothsayers

who said naught

to sooth. “Forsooth,” she scoffed,

“has this tall, dark stranger

“brought danger? -Is this air fraught with it?”

she stalked her Great Hall, cross and wistful.

at odds.

“Oh, ye mad gods…”

 

he walked into a copse,

at a loss,

and was swallowed soon by foothills.

a city-state away,

she took chill; tugged close her garb.

                                the barb of one kiss

                                                                slipped inward…

 

 

 

 

Hendrix, on a tilted stage.

(hindrance: born deaf.

but feels it in some jilted space

within, storm’s-breath–)

 

poet on the stilts of Sage;

peering at his peers, peerless,

eyes fearless and frank

steering past appearances for the spirits forbade…

 

she wades up in the mud, sudden as swords swifter–

blood in her blushing paleness, her buddies nothing to him–

her fingers flutter in American Sign, gestures something he can’t dare to define–

oh it’s akin to lovely

her friends a’bubble, they’ve been sharing some wine–

she begins to dance, tarrying nigh–

fingers brushing his thigh by chance(?), Hendrix has carried her high

his heart fills–underused cords forge words–

 

he buries the cry

in her mouth,

necessary but trite…

 

she is the scariest sight.

 

in that her image was very…inside.

all his life.

like a borne curse.

all but wi—

 

 

 

 

 

rush hour LUNCH hour she’s just a TOUCH dour.

 

wants shower wants SHOWER she hunts down a decent diner due to her recent climb up Food Chain Mankind(-of),

she can’t find one,

the damn light won’t–!

 

–she clamps whites runs the red can’t fight it

                    an ache in her head

                                    half-dead a vampire

                                               editors wretches

                                             texting a message

                  to her harried receptionist LATE

maybe a sandwich at the delicatessen(-ish?)

relish the presence of a hater who questioned her on an earlier date but now let’s look at HER dress it’s shit

order borders Tasmanian speed “keep the change” (she needs one)

directionless she wrestles purse-strap, eyeing the curved back of the guy making her     turk’-slathered-with-whatever-it-better-be-yummy-or-she’ll-act like-a-heifer

                                                        and his eyes

look like they recognize,

look like a second prize when there’s no first,

cook like a Mesmer ply (did her soul thirst?)…

shook shakenShake?” and he slides

her drink order

as they wait for her fries

in the belly of a million Lives,

aching to dive

in the lake that has taken its time

pooling below

cooler than snow, hotter than tropical climes.

 

 

an Alway, and a bide…

 

 

                                     a precious text kept next

                                       to, even as they slept

                                         on the chess move

                                                measured

                                            on their dots to

                                       connect for Ever, an

                                    hourglass to their rescue

 

          

 

 

 

 

 

 

About the Author ()

I am a human being.I am a Champion/Idealist.I am lost.

Leave a Reply