Magic Love

Love, one magic number counts four letters of chance and change, positive to negative on your life line a test handed in and then passed and rearranged.

Love, a perfect prism’s reign of color – incarnadine and rosy – lies like a white rabbit’s eyes they follow you. Upstairs, a curtain’s drawn open to a magician who hides up inside his sleeve dark tricks though at first sight you still watch him closely.

Love, lives in a magic city. A filthy town, where you arrived this afternoon, driving deserted sand hill lined roads, the landscape finally yields to billboards on which you read that in the suburbs no ones home or even sleeping.

Love curls like a lazy house cat. Striped and fat it’s mind wanders to windows sleepy and teased by birds and other moving targets.

Love runs faster than a sports car. Shining, topless, windy hair whips your at your cheek – it wasn’t meant to breakdown when you need the ride the most and leaving you in solitude its engine sounds like goodbye.

Love sails with you upon a magic carpet from far away it stops and awakens you from silken dreams. Burgundy and bubbly flows through you and turns your inside out from smiles to screams of pain.

Love, the story playing in a cool dark theater. The wife died at the end the husband writes, couldn’t it be me not her? Then he wipes his eyes and instead with deep regret, throws out his pen and just asks why?

Look at me

#keepitalive #poetry

I’m in the stacks high as a half floor of the classics held between the pages and wands and cups. Looking deeper your eyes burn holes with the investment of tonight or a lifetime.

Emma or Juliet or Madam Bovary protect the faces prettier than hers in the quadrant always mowed in rows – cut grass rusted between the notes.

Spiraling and bound there’s no word for the sound a girl makes when all the nexts and fortunes and eventides behold a barely audible thing. Listen to it boil from my throat.

Women fainting in the humid doorless rooms inadequately chaired. Sit there behind Heathcliff and expose those white thighs to Flaubert and smell those Madeline-scented clavicles, songs wafted up from hot pipes. B sharp A minor chord comes to warn us all to keep our distance.

That very day I left the mold blooms and heard the copilots speech, balloons began rising ever so slowly. I learnt that heat rises and a cold sinks like a feeling of mediocrity.

Not the virgin she’s reborn a little girl. Not a diving bell. Not an oven door to a living hell. Not the clamber of a piano on the short seashore with the conch shells and their perverse Fibonacci shapes sequencing his final thought.

She’s guarding my life with the covers of a book forgotten, in return naughty but respectfully right, on the shelf – so you reach her cheek in your dreams.

Fingers part my lines, as the stuff of your words open my mouth like a cannon. A Captain, a whale, and the man whose name you’d never know sat between us.

You still call him Ishmael. We all find out what his name means as one of the dead. That very second we pull ourselves out of this fictional life.

I died to finally read the last sentence, the words no one knows.

Flattening the curve of the earth, weakened at the knees, her neck craned around to notice he’d gone.

Pleased to return Dentistry in Suburban Phuket, forevermore out of print, it once ran cyan, magenta, yellow, and black.

Printed on my imagination the greatest achievement of self discovery.

I thought you’d finally agonize for me.

Letter Rite I Cannot Must

Tear up the calendars of the days when my heart boiled over with the heat of blood lit love.

I buried myself in your scent. I luxuriate within the velvet folds of your robes, yet I am incense. I’m  curling like a cat’s tail around your head and finally come to rest in a pool filled by all of your layers.

When we slept alone. No one spoke to  me in my dreams. I shift away into black clean sleep, farther away than consciously knowing what to do, I followed the echoes home.

Late again, I found your back to me.

Now without a sun it looks wrong across the dark sea sky. I no longer know who hooked a wrong turn, and you were lost in the wrong direction. I’d forgotten how to write a postcard.

Right now with a look invented by yesterday, slip your card secretly into my pockets. You added to my risk profile a division problem with a remainder of

suffering that’s the equal to infinity which holds in its palm all of the numbers, even the odd imaginary ones,

and the one that cannot be divided except by either one of us. As two we fell into an affair of afterthoughts. Stupid throw away lines like “all the stars ever born.”

We embodied all the love ever swallowed. It was as if by will of force someone moved to live right now, and a life declared itself lit by our success.

But we failed. Tested low. Us so unaverage, painting with our blame we blacken our everythings. Spending a dollar meant more than my Cheshire smile in a body washed up on a Royal red blood tide upon the lights of the Queen’s necklace.

Failure listens through walls. It hears drumming, but shouting so much more like distant children getting slapped in shame, which is owned by a hand. It belongs to God’s voice, and you bestowed on me the right to forgive only one of us.

It’s easy to forget when you can cast the last stone during a secret ritual in a dead language. How I cannot write this down now, because I have loved only once.

My doubt exceeded measurable magnitudes, too much to write a simple goodbye. The letters cracked my body in half, and in a desert pond I lay thinking I must die just now. The dice threw themselves at my head as I woke up in a hysterical position.

Because I do remember justice’s blind compassion. You saw blindly into me and I heard you silently say, tracking me everywhere in your blue gaze – hide and never forget us and the forgotten will never find us.

So where now do I go to find you and make our new roots green again?

I can’t leave here knowing that we became each other’s closing doors. The endless slamming made us mad with deserving so much more than this.

It’s so bright outside and I must go touch the sun or the earth will split in half like an egg and lose the life we meant to live into it’s bath in the universe.

And the last sound you hear is shattering of my iced soul and it’s cradled body hitting the hot air and then gone forever.