Station

I couldn’t stretch it
it began furtively
the weasel of a creature
stitching disaster with a golden flare
dancing brushstrokes in the air
stepping lightly
flooding slow
a prick to welcome
boring deep within
each layer, each flaking level
it could be cruel
but I’m sure this isn’t new
I know the tracks
and paint the country with pleasure
still be the train, upon them all
useless and crumbling
but ever so mighty
bending light with each day
crowding this heaven-sent boundary
to a cradle beneath
somehow immersed in everything
so carbon me
make me realistic
drawn and painted and sung
compose me your morals
stand with posture perfect
gripping ledges
haphazard leaping
and suddenly —
you see it too

so change it all, and harbour no chain
abandon weight, for I can help you fly

   

      

Finished: 8:28 a.m., Wednesday, December 5th, 2007.

Release

it has a plan
constructed elsewhere
I’m its guardian
watch as I slide
that slippery washboard
bringing the tide around
it can happen like that
so let the notebooks fly
they soar better anyhow
let them see the wind
from whence they came
dying a death onto paper
and living so long
to come around
and be made angels
they’ll thank us
all your inspirations
and mine

   

    

Copyright L.M. 2007.