Whatever went wrong went
Terribly wrong. The road just
Ended. No signs at all, no rails,
Just stopped as if there was something
Much more important to do than
Be a road any longer. It was only
About a third of a mile long and
Had begun to attempt a passage
Through a small wooded area.
It looked as if it hasn’t mattered
Much, that no one had come that way.
There was no garbage, no dumping. Just
A stopping, a way of saying that this
Could happen anywhere just as unexpectedly.
A QUESTION OF VERACITY
Brave little moment repeating
Itself, waiting for the mind
With its fine tigers to parade
Through, earnest in their spectacles
Of calm madness hovering
Along the same roads we travel,
Waiting for the mind, for us
To find the crowded streets
Sweating like skin tattooed
With a symbol that will lead
Us through these same stone
Streets always expecting,
Always arranging them one
After another, as if they could
Mean something more than
The borders of our madness,
Our rush to see them sorted out
Hoping this means we really exist.
So many voices. A chorus
Speaking together. There is
Grace in the way the words
Form here. We have no idea
What is being said. But there
It is, pure and outlandish
As late June with its
Dreams of water and Summer
Love caught in its loins.
We walk along the sidewalks
On the edges of the park.
The fireflies are just starting
To be seen so we sit and wait
For the dark to consume everything.
I am in love with you, you
The one reading this. I want to
Take you in my arms and touch
You intimately, make love with you
With great ceremony and unbridled lust,
To be a chorus within you, not
Singing at all, but speaking so we
May hear in our core, abandoning gender,
Fine and carnal, pleading another kind
Of Summer, another mouth upon yours
Where speech stops attending us
Where all becomes sensation,
Steam rising from the ocean surface
Even before dawn is aware of it.