Soul Drunk

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“Don’t wait” the first 
Invitation*, states.
Subject and verb meant
What I heard: it’s my turn.
These wasted times,
My healthy days numbered
Counting crows in a line.
Life and death married
And birthed you together
So don’t wait for
Tonight or for daylight
When winds kick up a mess
Of better yesterdays.
Sour mash in a dirty glass
Ice diluting the burning
Hoarse throats from thirst
So deserted, beyond quenching.
Straddling my legs up to the bar
And wild wet eyes find
You outside of the frames
pictures -you took them, too.
Stored in musty boxes
In basements and attics
All dressed up, obnoxious
When glasses obscured by
Bottle blondes divorced and lonely.
Time in the mind only reminds
Us of what no longer stabs at
Our hearts. Funny things:
Gene’s helixes and a pine’s cones
All the sacred plans for galaxies
Spun Nautilus shells and
The ringing bells in my ears.
Yet some refuse any sound
Like the dying refuse food.

Outside nature awaits and what sings
Of life alone in the flutter.
Nudging the willow tree’s long locks
A hummingbird wings create unrest.
Crying tiny drops of firelight
Candles leave wax rings
Worn into wood, married by ownership
And warning our bodies
in the dusk’s lazy sun adrift the sea
Winking goodbye as it hides for the night.
At home we take the complaints of stuttering billy goats
Where clamorous hens kick
At the roosters who forgot a nest
Or two. What about me?

It’s the way we all feel
Have they no idea
our children fled the nest -
Leaving their rooms full
Of their trophies
While we wait to sleep
In fitted sheets
Dug in graveyards with
Names like Star of David.
Smoothed over blue grass grown
Watching the dead proves
Equally as boring.
It doesn’t mean a thing
I mean that nothing was meant by it:
To say that at birth
We become life and death, as one
Intertwined together.
Growing taller, spinning
Until we grow dizzy and
Giggling in the know
Of moment we will fall
Carefully goes the innocence
Spiraling, radiating out
Of our mouths the
breath of love itself.
Rejoiced in our screams and cries.

A call to our guilty conscience
That wears heavy on our bones
Asking again to what ever we’ve
Said no. Must we unpack and
Put their guilt in the pantry
Set the table with the China
The sheets hang out in the
Golden dusty fields
Collecting the scent of
Late sunlight in baskets
After hanging up on the lines
With the rest of the whites
Faded and drying we remain
Dying in the sky tidally locked
Like the moon to the earth
And never once asking
For more than a simple goodbye
“One day we will meet again”
Though I never have
Known you in your own skin
Only under layered pelts
Like laundry hanging from your deserted bones.

Dare we share the bond
That darkness cannot control?
Isn’t that a woman’s fate:
to allow men to drink
Until they drain our souls?

*from Frank Ostaseski’s The Five Invitations, highly recommended on audio book as read by the Author.
“Don’t wait,” is the first invitation. One cannot live their entire life or tell all those they love how they feel, or forgive even yourself of any pain; it’s never too late, however.

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