A house is an island, you say.
A home is where the heart dies.
The light from the diaphanous shade
looking over at us, mocking us.
"The fates are cruel" you say,
"I don't understand them anyway."
I usually tried to describe my
feelings to the walls.
Nothing. Nothing.
Not even white noise.
My thoughts peeled off like
layers of onion…
Hitting the ground, shamelessly.
Your comfort cold as winter stone.
and veiled with flimsy gossamer.
Oh, Love…
You called out to me from a distance -
and barged into my life without warning...
A black arrow cutting through my days.
Dripping with its cyclical poisons and sorrow charms.
Hope seeping from your
one-little two-little Feather Heads.
You set me off like a
hot
air
blast.
And I wanted to create something new.
And the words they felt so important!
Became more important than me…
Beckoning, beckoning...
I offered myself up to them.
Up to the stars, the moon
Then came tumbling out, ridiculous,
My face full of craters.
Sapped and dry.
A vapid maelstrom of
thoughts and ideas…
Falling, falling…
The black poultice
swallowing my fever whole.
Did it really mean that much to you?
When you fell did you see it fall first?
Oh, sweet three are you powerless?
Love, love
I fear I may have lost it somewhere recently...
Thrown out with last weeks garbage.
Mixed in with the rotten vegetables.
Love is elastic, you tell me.
Love can be recycled.
Love became my very own
solar system, complete
with its endless worm holes
and chasmic voids and dutch ovens.
But My God, the gases are
choking me, slowly slowy.
I tell you I understand.
But you understand immediately.
You know the meaning of
crawling, crawling.
The light is so far!
But it is there..
Singing lullabie's softly to me, every night.
Visiting my dreams, building me up...
preparing me for something enormous.
Filling my void with starlight.
VJA 2006
