beside the undreaming ocean;

March 12th, 2003 · 30 comments

last year at this time (and last year at this time), i think i-

(fell)

through the earth, somehow. fell into my grave. spread my hair out around my head, over moist places, and sighed, feverish; strained upward, towards the murmuring of growing things, closed my eyes (my eyes), and broke there, in my grave, in the earth, with tragic flowers crushed between my legs, died there, in the soil, the way we do; became like dust & moved up; out; through the rain, over this, here, moved above voice, above the dark light of haunted things, & settled down through leaves, through the lush dark of small, wild places; lit down onto the surface of your wavering form, down onto the smile of your face, the moisture of your being.

became you. (like the sound of you. arching my back with your voice.) became the earth and the wide, hot moon and the water, guarding you with my temples, touching you with my reed fingers. my cobweb hair.

(& i chant still, like this)

this is not an altar. my incense. these candles. this is not a place of worship. this paper, with words. these hands, with you on them. this mouth. & this mouth. & this mouth.

my slow purr.

.
.
.

Mood: bon vivant.

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