The deep parts of my life pour onward,
as if the river shores were opening out.
It seems that things are more like me now,
That I can see farther into paintings.
I feel closer to what language can’t reach.
With my senses, as with birds, I climb
into the windy heaven, out of the oak,
in the ponds broken off from the sky
my falling sinks, as if standing on fishes.
Rainer Maria Rilke
A gene targets the thirst.
Like an itch scratched only once, then forgotten.
She wimpers without weeping;
and her cries echo through the matrix.
I followed you through the dark winding street
Water dripping at my heels and sounds pulsing from my chest.
I donâ€™t think you heard them though.
Never allowing less than seventeen yards between us,
I wondered if you knew I was there.
If you did, you never let on
Your step never quickened and your neck never swung back to look
It felt like a dream but I think I was really there. And I didn’t dream tonight.
Maybe I was only visiting your dreams; maybe the dream king shared the memory with me
And now youâ€™re left with me in your dream, though you never looked back.
I wonder if you remember me.
I can still smell the rain on the dirt covered cement and the beer drifting out of the lazy dark bars.
First draft – working…
All those moments will be lost in time
Like tears in rain.
– Rutger Hauer, as Roy, in Blade Runner
You dreamed you were God
and awoke alone and cold.
Large giant of perception
with fingers of fire
Striking down the weak
around him. Fierce energy.
Your voice must have washed
through his empty intestines
as he became you
and in waking life
as you walk tall and speak sure.
God in your gaze and in the
notes and waves that swirl
from your tongue
Wrapping around everything
within and without reach.
Whose god was it that I heard
whisper prophetic truths to me
in the night?
Was it you, love?
I fall back into dreamland
with one eye open and no dreams.
I’m feeling soft tonight.
I feel like there are all these little soft spots and empty pockets around me and in me and on me that are yearning to be filled up.
I’m missing places that I wish I could hold onto better, though I know that’s really never the answer.
I’m missing friends who I don’t speak to enough, don’t see enough, don’t laugh with enough.
I’m missing the ones who I fear I’ve let slip away.
I’m missing the ones I’ve held at arms length.
I’m missing the deep, into-the-wee-hours conversations that make you rethink life and the world and what you are doing in the next day or week or hour.
I’m missing freedom and lack of schedules.
I’m missing hours of fresh air each day and sitting to watch the sunlight in the trees change into the gloaming as night approaches.
I’m not sad though.
I just feel soft and a little achey for these things.
Maybe it’s dream time…soft silhouettes and rich colors, sounds we never hear in waking life and fabulous touches unknown in the day…
And they lay side by side
and atop each other,
none of them wanting
to shift a bristle or a bloom
for fear of destorying
the delicate balance
they found themselves in.