Not the ruby baubles the factory man works so hard to impress, But the slumbering body relieved of its day’s demands… and perhaps a lay–in Saturday morning
Baby, my porridge is not father’s: don’t take it all so much and improperly digest it. Papa, my porridge is not Baby’s: it’s not so small to dismiss as a mere toddler’s trifling. Oh, mama, can’t you see: I’m human. Let us sup together; perhaps you aren’t so unbearable.
Here I am in my ocean again. You pushed me or I threw myself in at the sight of you, at the quake of you running through my boards. A sunny day and a light breeze dancing upon the waves enchant me and make it hard to see — well, them or your eyes. I don’t mind loosing ground; I wade or fathom, now: your ocean or mine? I invite you in. Either I would hold my breath to explore your depths or would you provide some oxygen?
Holy brothers, you escort your sandcastles’ beauty and gracefully cast it into the river. I imagine relinquishing likewise: why is it a crummy kingdom I uphold?
The night wind rushes through dying embers; they burn just the same.
Pa, I know the stubble of your beard. You kissed me goodnight after you missed dinner, working late. I take that stubble to my grave. I tell God about your stubble. Those nights you let me shine the light for you under the car I have absorbed all of that light. I am full of that light. When you hinted I might be another Einstein I am an Einstein so as to fulfill your pride of me. Your insight that I need no other guidance but my own I turn this straw into gold. Pa, perhaps this story is incomplete It is enough. Thank you, Dave
Forgive my bluntness when I insist I'm eternal and wise as the universe In perceiving you I see you in me There is my heart, in you You, flapping around, doing your own thing When shall we tea in the kitchen? heart to heart
Perhaps a mistake to forgo the ache making of one’s self a human With spiteful tenacity takes herself as lover A joyful bed in loving herself, loves the world Gobbling down gleams of inspiration indulging strange urges and combinations to satiate the little one secretly nursing, growing embarrassing From a patchwork of snacking and digesting miraculously combining into a self–contained story its own life Flesh and blood for others to see critique, abjure recklessly Perhaps to glimpse fragility imbibe what magnificence might come if they too put out be awestruck and taken–in
I’m not sure and my curious desire allows me to be carried away anyway
In her presence, her presence I have breathed A blinding beauty, a blinding beauty I have seen I gazed no thought The muted radiance burning the film attempting to capture Knowing, as my eyes held her, my mind would not catch her burned into my memory Just the pleasant burn and delicious soothing of grace in nonchalance A beauty that did not strike unwittingly burned and crumpled by invisible flame I accept and graciously with calm, pleasant passion with blissful, resigned frustration such effortless perambulation