Open sky,
sitting on a park bench with one arm curved behind a person;
teething smiles shyly undressing my emotional puristic like Adam re-unclothing in
Eden.
Whatsoever is losed of my ascetic,
may it free our eyes to tresspass into our hearts and breakthrough the binders.
Open sky,
like a shaded orange thingy,
serendipity might bring your meaning by a large dream of two days' worth of sleep
after I crept into your eyes and lost something I can't really tell of;
I think it was unshelved, a piece of my bestselling self; consequence: lost.
Obsequies: died for love, the form of death that kills the greed of my homesickness;
consequence: no return.
Open sky,
clear,
yet the sun will soon say goodbye.
Like good friends we watch his actual goodbying but not without the christening of
our love pudding:
sweet child in arm, the sweetest charm we ever cast...
Yours for all time,
burnt the bridge behind and it's a good thing I can't swim,
good thing, but if I could,
I'd swim in your own pull.
The pulse of life is altered,
a dimension set apart
closed in behind streaming window panes.
Half of life falls away . . .
I wonder why it seemed consequential yesterday.
Suspended . . .
unshelved a world of joys duty pushes back,
sweet pleasures always whispering,
but out voiced by louder tongues:
books and music,
fragrant kitchen scents,
fireside soup suppers with soft voiced friends,
some decades or even centuries old.
Blessed refreshment rainy days bring to earth,
but miracles they perform for drought encrusted minds.
Copyright, September 9, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
color pickets
match the days away
when hours fade
there's no feel left to persuade
you know more than me
that you do
But i know who it is
beneath the scars
the fancy lights
the impervious dark
no matter what your poetry says
it's undone
and your songs will sing themselves
unfinished
until they become desperate enough
to turn to vinyl plagues
and if you were to feel contagious
i guess i could move you along
and if you were to feel contagious
I guess i could shoot you a call
no sense in wishing
what you cannot say
i kiss you well
curse me
your days of hell
to see your thoughts unshelved
is a catalog i've wanted less
sidewalks and broken bones
unskin your knees
the little fees
that bring about such doubt
color pickets
match the days away
i'm holding on to
all i've ever known
little thoughts of you
incase you move along
and if you were to feel contagious
i guess i could move you along
and if you were to feel contagious
I guess i could shoot you a call
move along now
move along
"you see the chalk, I see the paintings along the way"
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