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Between Loss and Living. (Saying Goodbye. theme blog)

Between loss and living   

 Absences wrench, gut, tear, rake. What follows is an infused hollowing out of the senses: A crushing of the heart and a cold deadening of skin. The soul shrinks in its sudden deep freeze.

                One

Plain-dressed, Sentimental walks Sorrow

between gravestones marking memories in the shade of

Daily conversations, easily forgotten

               And discarded.

 Shadows etch 'goodbye'  against the clouds, hung overhead

 in danger of being too feminine and forgettable...

      But for the Self, the self-mythologizing

                      Of an ordinary life: musksweat in fear,

        reflected in eyes - obnoxious

For lack of incubus, Gunning down poetry for the lack of instinct.

You attempt to suffocate the devil between Earth, fire, sky and

              Your tortured heart.

 I would wash the salt from your eyes, as I would bathe

Your feet of solemnities flowering urgencies

                         From gravestones... naturally wet;

Yet there you are, mute in the moonlight -

A lustrous, invented immaculate skeleton

 bearing gifts for the dead: Rosewater,

   Motherofpearl, Cumulus

   …. Venus Blossoms, crushed in palmoil

and served chilled, in the heat of our afternoons:

       noons which shade less after, saying nothing...

                         The mating of pity and remorse defaults to a perilous

Embrace. Kind intentions avert the widow's gaze;

                      Falling by decimal scales

        in the servings of tea and coffee

Yet for all the pain excruciating,

                   tearing at the pages of days, torn to shreds by banalities, I cannot

           But invade you,

tender-skinned beneath this fatal sun

                    as the ritual has begun to unfold;

A prayer-mat across our souls:  the extravagantly

                         slow embrace in the coming of love caught

    in mid whirl Of a skirt and smile

From beneath a sunhat of straw: Thrown to the laughter of the wind

Across the sea...you reach in your pocket

and smell me in a seashell.

            Under my kiss you feel bound to living,

unbridled of an urbane grace, to wild desire

             Drinking our beauty at dusk.

            Two

Lying in the shadow of rains

                 I am drawn by a sketch bird against

the breast of horizons, living beneath

      the line of earth demarcating

My Mesopotamian paradise.

        The fierce naked secrecy, bitten

in the bittersweet kiss of revolving doors, spewing

tangent migrants back Into the thick of things, is harvested by my tongue

like Lightening across a wooden floor: thirst

     lacerates the pulse ticking

                            Against the kitchen wall suicidal on the dot!

        And we play house between our death beds

Playplay-pretend….playing dress up.

 

I hardly catch my breath  tripping over

             Exhausted hollow dock-ends anchored

 In bays of neglect, devouring the pit in my stomach: Once more

  Just once more, that I, buried in steel-wool sleeplessness

                  might be ravaged by the river ages, revealing

     The fine tuning of bone, Chinaworn by marvelous flesh.

                  Then I may write of hearts coloured by crayons waxed

in crime, hell and hollow punishment.

 

The emergency exits seal themselves across mirrors running

a dry-throated mouse wheel Into the ground

                               …. books have crushed in my belly

Shaping nuances and antidotes to shame…

           Wormed into catharsis the moment I opened my eyes

   To a real valley of dolls, wearing Deadpanned expressionisms

              Dressed to kill: As if I collected anthologies of –isms

For cocktail parties and gallery openings, In language cuckolded

                               by arty-farty truisms for the suburbane cull.

 To crawl backward into bosom-buddy bravado

             Of kiss and tattletale rising tides across a sexual countryside,

                                  Dressed in corduroy and private, pungent  conundrums;

 That would have Friends peeling off the corners

                                          Of one’s memories

                 Latent as lily fronds

                           Afloat on dead water.

 

Walking into love between

Mangos and silkworms, one could be forgiven for thinking

You an accidental tourist; dropping the tenets of your life

                               Through the open door.

                Feeling your way through bowls of blue leaves

Into aquariums suffused with arum and calla lilies,

           You carry God on your back  - like intuition coming clean.

     Yet you never wondered

                      What would become of Falling in love with a poet

 – The briar patch of blind men

  Where bluff is a dead man’s game and Smoke, saddened

meanders upward slowly Seeking solace in the air,

                                  Which knows

               Like an old lover how best to cradle

             Its cold death.

 And my own.