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A pale inevitability haunts the sun, sticks to its photon trail a phantom blur in some black and white photograph. A smudge in the printing of life, the pale fingerprint of destiny, given mobility. Whispers to the king of earthly light, "You, too, shall expire." Nights like these, steal even his lay way ghost. Perhaps for once, the sun can sleep in peace. As the moon hides behind dark restless mountain ground, and tear away clouds sticking motionless to adorn the fecundant flesh of darkness, the timeless beauty of sky. They're faking frozen now with the eternal chase of death and life, man and woman, predator and prey. We pause in our dance, but you hold me close, say, "Don't walk away" like you had to ask. Limbo, puragatory, words I prefer to death hell, and consumption. But does pause prevent end? And if pause is unending, doesn't pause become end? Hesitation decision? Will you dance with me, my king? The car has stilled now. Pulled over to the side of the road to gaze upon the day that has undressed herself. I watch the graceful age of sunspent sky, as she makes contact with the ground, blushes with the dirty red heat of lightning. In the seeeded mist of summer rain, darkness let's her hair tumble down luminous woolen strands, spilling through the valleys, in ephemeral threads, softer than the winds that gently toss the thick and tangled tresses of time's mane. The fresh smell of rain sharp as metal, like the taste of spoons, the makeshift lollipops of lazy mountain days. Reminds me of that day by the river. The symbolic- life and death, the concrete- your sweet flesh that weaved with movement, between the stately postures of trees, and my posture yielding in your limbs, my warm feet, breaking the coolness of water in defiance- Are we not, more than spit? And the chemical wash- desire, and affection, fear, respect, the hopeful packrat memory. I told you river mud had a distinctive smell, remembered that time my father and I searched for crawdeads. You named it. Smells like shit. That was exactly what I thought, too, but somehow..... the scent of shit seemed welcome sweetened by memory and natural beauty. But this, this smells clean, smells like childhood, like dreams and dewy drawings on window panes, like grey school days, and the wilderness I was born into, and the wilderness within me, and the human desire for love and the consumation of hungry longing. |
Wow, this is really an interesting piece. It covers a lot of territory here, and you tie it all together (the good and the bad, the yin and the yang) at the end, like a bow on a neat understandable little package. Towards the beginning, there were things that seemed extraneous, not connected to anything, but as I read it ended up moving together well. Thank you for sharing this piece. It's one that makes ya think. | Posted on 2009-07-29 00:00:00 | by thepowerglider | [ Reply to This ] | |