the corridor leads to strange eggs. That limp with the secret submarines of the sky. Never was there anything like that before. I know I hadn’t seen anything like it. But he did, I stood next to him. The trains had passed is. The universe stirred beyond the skies. We had seen it all. Different voices had spoke to us.
My castles lay inbetween the whispers of the gentle grass that blew in the wind. There was no stalling us. Everhthing beyond had landed in our laps. As gentle as a falling flower. I kissed him on his lips. He read my palms. The lanes of strange countries levitated out of them…. — these lanes had come out like tornados in desert sands, seizing time. Coexisting with rest of the sad faces of Turkish children. Holding the hands of their little sister. Wishing the had lollipops in their pockets. I said to him.
“Listen to the voice in your heart that sings comrade.” “The voice that plays the dead Gibson guitar. Who revives its soul…..Holding the heart of a dead guitar, Feel it beat like a timebomb in his hands.” “The heart never fail’s you I said.” “It holds on to your bleeding lips, tasting its sweetness” “No shadows lurk in here.” “It is just you and your soul buddy.” I spit a logy into the desert sand. The crows were calling so I looked up. Beyond still sitting in our laps. No favors. No commitments. Dizzy stars circle in the depths of our retinas. Children playing see saws on them. Some lunging on to mommy’s left leg.
“Why do they talk like that mommy” a little girl said. A lollipop in her pocket. Content. Loving the sight of a murky ocean. So late in the night. The stars sing to her cradling babies in their arms. She loves him. Oh so much. She saw into distant horizons, seeing beyond the dreams of Alexander. The soft leg of her mothers thighs. How sentimental could someone get anyway? Why so soft. Our ribs melt like petroleum when we touch it. Dear mother, I can feel my heart in my hands. I CAN FEEL IT!! I spoke to me. It listened to my hands. My hands were like ears. My ears spoke to people. People never heard me.
Oh, I love the feeling of my face to a cement wall I though. How luxurious, Fresher than the scent of exposed flesh. IT is just me and my sorrow. I melt into the ground.
But no, it didn’t end there. He revived me. Revived me. He saw into my galaxies. I haven’t seen anything like that he told me. My chest opened up to him like the doors of a catholic church. “These are my secrets baby. Gentle unicorn. You glow like a crown when I say that.” He said and kissed my gentle wrists that hung there like a tormented branch in a misty forrest. I have wanted to kiss you so many times Pamela. The backdoors of my heart is aching. They held on to each other in the bitter cold february winds. Take my arms. My legs. I will just sit here with my shattered ribs. As they die for you. Blowing away in the cold cold February winds.
I will have to crawl out the sand with the sand grinding on my face. They had whipped me. My wounds sprayed with red as the lashes kissed my flesh. They opened their lips to sing silent songs to you. I am blind but I want to feel only with my lips. With all the cavities in its soul to suck you into a vision of near lust. Somethings just don’t cling on to its walls. The flesh of its wild berries. Secreting its sweet juices onto your skin. Maybe it tasted like blood. Yes, it was where I stood. Watching you sitting there, in the dim light of a warm room reading Scandinavian poetry. The horses dance in glory out two large panoramic arches. With statues of kissing angels clinging to the pillars with their hands.
The soft sound of harps on the other. The music that portrayed itself as the barrel of polished guns. There is nothing, only nothing but a tunneling darkness. Only lasting long enough to hear the whispers of its endless ghosts. I kissed. The air…And all its echos.
“The stars don’t talk to me anymore.” the little girl said to her mommy.
No comments:
Post a Comment