Some mornings even grilled sweet yams and maple
Remind me of Paris mornings and bridges over silent waters
To return, to stand wrapped snug warm in my leathers
Alone at the point.
She told me I have to leave it all behind
Focus on my Buddha and leave it all behind.
Leave all behind, the things
Shiny detritus gathered along the road
flashsparkle that snagged my eye
chiseling deep grooves into recollections.
Carved into a sandy beach, a canyon, a soul divide
Gathered now, spread dreamdusty on dusty shelves.
And just go to a snowy hillside where I ate my first valiums,
Or stumblelatedrunk in Soho,
down dark stairs to watch them dance mad
Wrapped in music that scared me.
And I think of every thing Lemon Drop Jacqui muttered
On quiet nights filled with static and her voice and static again.
(even that letting go hurts to think about…where will it go?)
She taught me to let go before I make my first step.
To Paris, to somewhere.
To finding my own personal Buddha before I leave.
Time and waves pass.
What seems a quiet place
Metal buzzes deep in your head
even now, the light flashes
When your eyes close.
Some days, a happy place,
All the houses up the hill freshly painted
sand is bright, brushed breeze smooth.
Parrots line the gutter.
Even in this land, the Assassins dance.
It is as you wish
Until you share with an absinthe stranger
that even images of pretty girls skin
wrapped in gossamer silks, wind-blown
in sand caked curves,
Suspended in warm clear pools of water
makes you sad somehow.
And you beg a generous friend to not share and he screams back in love
FUCK YOU! YOU ARE NOT OLD YOU ARE NOT DEAD
I decide where I send love.
You can’t refuse. You can’t say no.
‘… even if your love makes you happy warm’,
You still cringe inside, just a cringe, just the tiniest tear seeps from inside
When images on the screen,
showshare a pressed cheek with new love.
Or two sit smiling in a tree branch.
All proclaim the beauty of love
And the tiny tear comes, colored tinge with sadness
And you move on.
Some parrots fly away,
leave the grey vacant hard angle of a concrete gutter.
You know when the last one flies away, you are done
And you walk black heavy coated down streets brown with swirling leaves
And it is done.
And maybe in the morning it will be a room without shadows
Sun brights in every corner…shadows flee unwanted.
Air all fresh ginger and bananas
That take me to a hillside of the Wye and I stare down at an ancient abbey,
wondering if their prayers were answered.