Proximity

dusty
stinging burns the dry
pulling tight today
trying to set it up
and I look ridiculous
could you believe
it’s about time
she’s asking me
to make another appearance
shocking though it may be
it’s part of my defense now

a line upon my bottom lip
shaking from frustration
would you believe me
if I couldn’t be happier
since daily death leads fresh
to daily rebirth
and nothing’s more precious
than that sound of life
that view of life
this taste of life

a smell of deception
foul to the touch
with acrid hints
designs a fate:
much greater, hollow
like within a cave
where the echo
resounds its wave

mindful of a gilded hue
rosy-themed and crackling
sharpened wit adorns my view
stands alone attacking
saddled, ridden, oh the ride
blinds me now to take my eyes
sit atop the highest fence
and toss me down our common cents

Finished: 3:32 p.m., Wednesday, December 12th, 2007. (c.p.t., t.b.a.; a few edits finished around 3:46 p.m., same day.).

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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.

Maple

on the underside of a leaf
it was written like a picture
slow, delicate, strokes
finding a lost path along each vein
and I read it aloud
listening to each line
tracing it in my mind
letting the song begin

and did I save you? I’m sorry
if the life crossed over
shining within you so bright
with the scent of new rain
it’s almost too much to feel
you let me breathe tonight

    

      

Copyright L.M. 2007.

May

do you question, as I do
the time suffered painfully through
the churning of a constant true
and breaking wireless of a sort?

are you happy to report
the second coming last resort?
or would you rather just retort
within your stage and clamoring few?

a docile servant becomes you
adept at nothing, talent-proof
all hate raised to those who blew
the deflating bubble that surrounds you

all that’s matter, matters not then
what succeeds won’t be forgotten

Copyright L.M. 2007. (in a series of many written around the same time a couple months ago).