Saturday, September 22, 2018

the romantics

I suppose we shall always live apart, me and my precious heart. It’s a lament I’ll lay down by the tide, a secret I shared while seeing you as I looked at the moon. Waiting and wanting and speaking aloud. A story about what my favorite story would be if these stories could come true. These various meditations on how it feels to always somehow miss the mark.

The shadows work where we’re not watching. They close the doors and dull details. Reveal depths and hidden vessels, rushing away from the citadel of the seen. The details all devils giving us away. Beware the tale you buy. Beware the blanks you are offered to fulfill.

The beat goes on until the party’s over or the power goes out. The back and forth of wish and want. The need to hear it said with no skimping on the beauty. The need to leave a mark for Cain to bear. The gray shores and endless tides littered with remainders. My life the story of only needing what was missed, the measure of the drift between these words of love and what they really mean.

at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

the habit

The dog is barking and you’re sick in the dark, surrounded by the sounds of the wind and television, dying hard with every habit. Now the li...

  • invocation
    This is how your letter finds me, as beaten and bowed as nature allows. This is how your letter finds me, a little lighter on the metaphor. ...
  • into stone
    The heart is reckless mechanism. The heart is an essential worker. The heart won’t leave well enough alone. Carrying torches and keeping tim...
  • faith
    Knowing no more of music than what you hear you see three crows fly across four power lines and think: Music! And that is seeing. And that i...