On this bus I force myself not to contemplate the improbable bullet that might enter my mind this moment and occupy it completely, excluding other thoughts from entry.
Eyes watch window reflections for the unholy flash that finalizes tenebrae, ears prick for exploding silence to settle down dustlike in the dimmed, full brain; thoughts telescope up until
I stand on a spinning mote of earth brinked by all void, helpless to any whim of universe. I shall get off at my stop calmly, and inconsequently create children on paper
The turbulent lost, heavy as stone, walked the long hallway. Leopards sat sentinel, guarding the loom. A woman wove heartbeats into the tapestry. One thread was fire, another was ivory. First fire then ivory sang from the shuttle. Fall, fell into the loom. Delicate emeralds burst into crimson and burned in the tapestry, heralding satin arms to come.
The sound of the shuttle is the sound of my sword while I watched terror's reflection in the gloss of my shield. I slashed out before she or my fear could turn me to stone. Carravagio captured the dread on a convex-- a shield I bore--gazing backward. First fire and then ivory sang on the loom. Summer descended to hell, and the arms embraced the death in the tapestry.
Heavy of heart, I walked the long hallway; past the leopards, the loom, and the heartbeats. I came to the woman, without my shield, and gazed on the tapestry that she was weaving. She held out her arms and embraced me. Doped with her tisane, I was not conscious, part swine and part celibate--a young bull put to pasture. Time had lost in the moment's decision. Heavy as stone, I walked the long hallway. First fire and then ivory sang in my heart.
"...men roll and ceaselessly pitch through deeper and darker seas than distance of heavens and winds of the world provide." --Richard L. Pope
Cloudless rain mingled briefly with dust. Shadows pull thin and long across the ground. The campfire cradles an orange warp of purpled sunset. Young spruce sing the wind from their keyboard stance of sharp and flat above twilight's ivory sandstone. Smells of needles and smoke brush the cliffs. The canyon's ember dies with sun. Mind runs freely on this earth. Memories rush clear and tumble pebbles of the moment across, and polish larger, static stones, smoothing them to an ethereal glow.
Black smoke of hair curls out of this fire that becomes eyes reaching deeper than midnight sky. Eye light spreads in mind to dance gentle color on your cheeks and slightly pouted lips. The heart rubs against that hollow cut by flame and unfolds outward into space. Beauty's danger is in its ghost. No other arms could gather up this hole.
It's so hard, we've got so far to go. We hope that you'll be there when we arrive. It's so hard, we've got so far to go. Won't you please be there, when we arrive? Give me a dog, fly. Give me a horse-fly. Give me yours...fly!
Give me a car, I don't want to go far, at least, not for awhile. Take a guitar, you're going to be a star with a million dollar smile. So we went alone, into the woods and your mother would tell me, we're up to no good.
But it really doesn't matter anyway. No, it really doesn't matter anyway. It really doesn't matter anyway. No it don't.
Give me a train, I'm scared of those planes, at least, during a storm. Take a new brain, you're already insane even though you're so warm. So I went alone, into the mine and your mother would tell me, I'm wasting my time.
Then I looked into your eyes and I suddenly realized that we're not the same. So the game changed.
excited
artistic
inquisitive