#365
i wonder what i’ll remember
the steam or streams,
that fiery sunset, sleeping
as she strummed in the garden,
sounds of the cycle sweaking and squealing
the sensation of discovering wet drops
on my shirt and realizing she’d sed tears
for her grandfather passing only hours before,
The joy of finding my brothers only five
kilometres north, the cakes,
a surprise dancing date, perhaps the shock
of the Baltic Bay’s freezing bite…
Was it the gripping greens or the picnic?
Perhaps the comfort and ease
of two harmonious friends company,
their dazzling fashion, her halting voice,
how can their be so many common jokes
in this uncommon place?
The light, the light, the light, keeping secret
the hints of night, my Summers in Scandinavia
wash the grey from sad winters that took me there,
that Solstice my soul found rest,
and i carry it still.
#366
Perhaps my brain really is broken,
that’d certainly explain a lot.
Otherwise it’s something else
something strange, and mystical
but i can’t believe that,
that’d break me more!
No, just an old, battered, broken thinker.
#367
My head blanketed
my body warm,
wrapped with wine
indulging in fantasies
of heroes, and gods,
and chaos and mayhem,
and hope, i hope.
#368
Where do thoughts come from?
And where and who
are these vile violent voices
screeching and shaking, shit-slinging
curses at the crowds? i cross
bounding under beautiful blue skies
no problems, no pain, no patience,
so foreign, so fractured, so fucked,
return, resume, resuscitate, the
immortal innocence i’ve forgotten
#369
By fortune my bus
passed by your house
on my way out of town,
into a soft gallon
of golden sunset.
i’m off again, i thought,
fingering my old necklace
a chain given to me
by one i thought i loved,
who thought she loved me,
given to you for you
to hold, when you feared
distance, you whispered
you loved it, and i thought
i loved you more than
i had known before.
i told you to keep holding
on to it, as i left then
like i’m leaving now.
Yes, hold to the chain
until i see you again,
and you did,
But you did not return it
at least not the first time
i returned to the warmth
of your skinny arms.
Almost as an after thought
after i packed my bags
you remembered my necklace
and dug in your endless
jewellery, cast in without care,
“Here it is,” you smiled as you passed.
Why i accepted it, i’ll never know,
it was a shock to hold
all my old hopeful hope
palmed away,
stupefied, i placed it deep
within my pocket, only to find it
now, again, as i pass your house,
wondering if i broke the chain
that might let us see one another,
as we were, as he had been.
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Take care, call your family, tell them you love them.
wazoo!
-Mr. Write