falling of thoughts
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Jun. 7th, 2006 | 09:45 pm
the great wings of dreams along with
the long fingers of a wanton life
from the ends of a twisted highway
pull at us with the perfume of the streets
and its myriad romances
all intoxicating, gripping at our skins
as headblasts of late-night drinks
the taste of a woman's wet neck in a dark alley or room,
and the explosion of passions and desires in your head
like flashy and loud bottles against a flat cinder-block wall
this tingling feeling in stomach...
free us from the normal world
while chaining us to this warped cement walks
of our diminished existence
I run with you inside of me
entering layers of darkness into the swaddling of night
with accelerating thoughts
in the velocity of the city's emotions
constantly moving, but inside standing still
searching for words to cut through the screams inside my ears
the pain of neglect and addictions running with your voice in my throat,
you, calling out my name,
searching for refuge while I searched for mine,
on your earth of many souls and many gods,
craving the moon,
the lunacy, vastness and warmth
of these powerful rocks now covered in mud
what regrets and longings must we bear?
what clutch of inner fears forces our hand?
what frenzy knocks on our door
and then when we open it, darkness is swept in?
do we need more laws but less humanity?
more punishment and less redemption?
fear drives us from being human
it's time to understand, go open-eyed into ourselves,
into our deepest fears, inside our underground domains,
into the futureless future, and then rise up
the time of sleeping is over...
the falling is so forceful
a gravity of soul to the bottom
the motion downward takes in reams of unwritten poetry,
paintings with no canvas, notes without melodies
as a young boy, I wanted somebody to stop me,
to stop me from crumpling into the decay surrounding me
who can now tell how grown-up am I?
who can now tell how deep inside have I been?
I have no point of countdown...
collapse into yourself
fold into the pages of your journals
into the chords in your head, into what your heart sees
every other choice has death in it,
so choosing your death seems empowering, doesn't it?
but art is about creativity,
new breath and new birth...
the only empowering course that echoes,
that ripples, that takes on new shapes as it goes outward
out, up and away not down — as escape to the rest of us
it took me a while, but I learned to fall and then rise...
the long fingers of a wanton life
from the ends of a twisted highway
pull at us with the perfume of the streets
and its myriad romances
all intoxicating, gripping at our skins
as headblasts of late-night drinks
the taste of a woman's wet neck in a dark alley or room,
and the explosion of passions and desires in your head
like flashy and loud bottles against a flat cinder-block wall
this tingling feeling in stomach...
free us from the normal world
while chaining us to this warped cement walks
of our diminished existence
I run with you inside of me
entering layers of darkness into the swaddling of night
with accelerating thoughts
in the velocity of the city's emotions
constantly moving, but inside standing still
searching for words to cut through the screams inside my ears
the pain of neglect and addictions running with your voice in my throat,
you, calling out my name,
searching for refuge while I searched for mine,
on your earth of many souls and many gods,
craving the moon,
the lunacy, vastness and warmth
of these powerful rocks now covered in mud
what regrets and longings must we bear?
what clutch of inner fears forces our hand?
what frenzy knocks on our door
and then when we open it, darkness is swept in?
do we need more laws but less humanity?
more punishment and less redemption?
fear drives us from being human
it's time to understand, go open-eyed into ourselves,
into our deepest fears, inside our underground domains,
into the futureless future, and then rise up
the time of sleeping is over...
the falling is so forceful
a gravity of soul to the bottom
the motion downward takes in reams of unwritten poetry,
paintings with no canvas, notes without melodies
as a young boy, I wanted somebody to stop me,
to stop me from crumpling into the decay surrounding me
who can now tell how grown-up am I?
who can now tell how deep inside have I been?
I have no point of countdown...
collapse into yourself
fold into the pages of your journals
into the chords in your head, into what your heart sees
every other choice has death in it,
so choosing your death seems empowering, doesn't it?
but art is about creativity,
new breath and new birth...
the only empowering course that echoes,
that ripples, that takes on new shapes as it goes outward
out, up and away not down — as escape to the rest of us
it took me a while, but I learned to fall and then rise...