Saturday, December 8, 2007

all this talk of dreaming is fine and sweet... (Part Deux)

your iambic pleas are not enough for me
although they are described so prettily
of course have i desire for other beauties to transpire
for other paths untraversed, not destroyed by our past's fire

of course i long to hear your softsadloathinglows
of course in all my sweetness have i want for numbing blows
from your split-tongue wetness caving in
bricks of existence crumbling thin ...
of course i need to see you (as nice as you seeing me might have been)

but a few expressions of dolor tossed back and forth
between two abel-bodied beauties with brief smiles and pressing duties
("he's pleased to meet you underneath the horse")
do not equate a year and a tribe's worth of ambiguities.

i'd love to put this behind me in a fashion that is whole
that is not part sadness, part evil, part regretting (or, "status quo") -
for i know the ways in which i mourn and cry and grieve
that, despite whatever happiness, might still lie beneath

so you can walk away from these stories we've created
that are too far, too deep, too long in me embedded -
and great. you've succeeded in a dimension of surreality
from which i will never flee, because they are much too much a part of me

i cannot stand at your side and abide
violences and sick stuck words
and vanity sucking the both of you out of your hides
while i know it's most absurd

for i remember how the two of you loved(?) before
you crawling to their every beckoning call
and my pleas for you just washed ashore
but i suppose i was nothing after all ...

i cannot stand and stare at you helplessly here
while i watch you wither and more bruises appear
regardless of how much you may say things might change
i can't imagine that habits can be that much rearranged

i cannot look toward your marigold eyes
and watch the darkest circles form where my snowflakes might lie
and most of all, i must refuse
to be further enraptured by a game i will always lose

i choose to no longer be a ragdoll of yours, or mine, or his
in this, always and forever our most languorous drift
for once you appear things will remain as they are.
talk after liquor and more poems won't straighten the stars

after all this writing and reading and longing, and repeating,
what more is there to sort than this?
to crush or not to crush, to bleed or not be bleeding,
is it you who's now forgotten the spark in our kiss?

perhaps things will evolve with the passage of time
but the pain i hold dear is indelibly mine.
for as much as i would love for us to be together (un)seen -
the sweetness "won't last any longer than my favorite dream."

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