marigold and patchwork

your proofrok day,
counting backwards in kettlet-turns and whistles
is beginnings is ends is stories untold
of lives unlived and lovers, unloved and
first kisses, last handshakes, the laying together
of midsummer nights on sofas and daydreaming.

this, a coming together of senses
you tell, like anyone or yourself
what you need what you want what you have
to hear to get by to get through.

and while you, the source of chatter
and seed of discontent mark pages with felt-tip pens
and use post-its for bookmarks
these days keep rolling past
a book of your life, with rusted binding and
deception growing freely on it's ends
like mold, we remark only casually about
the intense nature of your smiles and sways
the sadness of your fingertips, the broken sighs
that fall from your lips and how so often
these things uplift and bring soaring
upwards into heavens and skies and starhomes
a lasting kind of joy, a bouncing fragment of maybe this or that,
but hey, it doesn't need a point, does it?
it doesn't need anything but the drumlines and
guitar riffs that mark the worth-its and the value-less.

these roads we wander, wistful, free
are the bendings of memory across each other where all things
and feelings come and go and we, the wistful
laugh and seer like marigold and patchwork intro.

2004-07-19 | 10:35 a.m.
0 comments so far