Thursday, February 20, 2014

She's like an old song I barely remember

She's like an old song I barely remember
that puts me back in time, back to when
it meant something, back into illusions
and fictions that I believed would save me.

She's like the way the books used to smell
when I confused their secrets, the way memory
floods the senses, how the fragments of life
resemble something different with each reading.

Let the old song move me out of history,
and into an eternal present, let the scent
of lost flowers be where I put my trust;

Let the recollections bring me salvation
beyond myself, let the magic I've forgotten
dissolve this misery I have imagined.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

She reveals herself in a different form

She reveals herself in a different form,
a different body, different eyes looking
out from nowhere, different novel details
hidden in the pattern of her hair.

She discloses mysteries when I'm not
expecting them, comes around the corner
quickly with a challenge, comes around
like a patient moon in delicate cycles.

Yet I am dazzled more each time, the eyes
are of an infinite depth, the mysteries
remind me this dream is unpredictable.

But without a definition I still recognize
something of the demure figure obscured
by a temporary body sleeping quietly.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

I wanted fame, money, someone to give a damn

I wanted fame, money, someone to give a damn
about my writing, a book deal, a magazine
to serve as a platform for my ideals,
and an audience that lauded my expression.

I wanted love, her, the one I've imagined
myriad ways, I've worshipped in every temple,
whose praise I've sung beneath heavy oaks,
and whose scent I'll eternally remember.

I needed it most desperately, more than
clouds need a sky to ornament, more than
grasses need the teachings of a storm.

But now that I'm older I no longer want
any of those things, just a moment of time
enjoyed—sacred, but somewhat ridiculous.