Somewhere Inside A Psalm Lost On My Last Adventure....
Naked, crawling forward in the crisp winter night towards all those stars
that stand so very far away.
Sleeping in the sands where the surf whooshes close to the saffron and nettle,
and from a distant tide Latin voices roll in as the fishermen sing to the fish
in the currents below.
And the sky, the sky holds its mountain of clouds out on the horizon, and I just
lay there on my side, cold ocean slipping its cold fingers up under my back.
I can do without the metaphors and sex of a heartless heroin imitating
death rush, back again, the need to dream is back again...
seems to be the new substitute... substitute for feeling...
and oh how I know it’s a new day every day,
and oh how I’ve seen the full midnight kiss
on our heavy, heavy land, and then, then it just leaves...same as the sun...
...festival days come and go...
the midnight kiss I’ve never known....the Janus gate swings every day anyway,
and the seafoam tastes so fresh and alive right now, and I can’t bear another
vodka stained dry lip touching my own, not when I feel the breath of the sea
opening and closing like a Japanese fan over my resting, salty skin....
and the Japanese fan flutters:
fffrdrdriipp, fffrdrdrooop,
opening and closing,
and the night’s like this:
it’s all pastels on an indigo heart,
it’s leaning over the side of a dugout boat
with a bamboo fishing pole,
an eternal lean, swaying and seeing
that I can trust only the stars
that they are there at night,
all else swirls out
in a stream in a different darkness,
the one that never touches,
the darkness that never feels....
and the commercial boat lights
bob and fade behind high waves on their way to a richer cove.
Good.
The smell of diesel and sea urchin was just too much on this pure evening,
I can do without the reminders of a faceless hunt and slaughter.
I can do without the cold mechanics of life/death drives.
Give me the silk fan opening and closing,
the one fish on the one line
in an eternal water of soft pastels,
and perhaps the long kiss at the end of the night.
And I rise up out of my feral crouch in the sands, stand, a little shaky,
but still I stand and walk back over the shifting dunes,
walking over the dunes towards a world that must be remade,
and yeah, even rediscovered,
even renamed, walking
towards the eternal world
where maybe,
just maybe,
here, between what is felt and what is said
one hand will reach and take my own.
And the warm earth breathes. I breathe.
And the Japanese fan flutters:
fffrdrdriipp, fffrdrdrooop,
opening and closing...
opening and closing,
fffrdrdriipp, fffrdrdrooop.
