Poetry
January 10, 2003
Laying my self as a hill rolls and opens to field. A sweeping grace of the body, and exclamation climaxed in silence, anticipation drumming to nothing… nothing…. nothing I would cry. Out into a space pushed wide by wise smoothing fingers, while I waited, tense and twitching to release my joy as something magnificent; the Nature of Waiting picking my brain with nosing hooks. I see half light I see shadows and whispers of what I am waiting for. I need to just wait. I feel that stare of indifference~ so what if the petals unfurl~ I wondered in those moments against the things that were manifest. The moments of clear hard eyes, while the golden and the itch of red try to come together, I bent and trussed like iron things, like proud and cold decaying things. But for the ebb of the flow I waited, for the clash and the extolling I waited, for the shriek and the white I waited; for the throbbing and the rush I waited. Many nights, many true, sad dreams; and the truth waited; patiently and ethereally while I hissed and wished to crack, to explode and rain down the dissonance of my regret. The melody of knowing harmonized with foregone ignorance approached lightly on dancing tiptoes. An honor for a seed to blossom; the red and golden and the light; Silent like repose; Onto that scratched and howling brain. The valley turned and climbed and rolled lavishly of fields and sun and peace. It sounds silently, like nothing has ever entered my brain, there is no humming, air spread equally and perfectly, I stood to feast of a field that blooms and waits gladly for clenched spirits.