The word unsaid
and spoken word
danced among pigeons
chased pollen and dialects
and at sunset sat
across an oaken table
stirred weariness
into coffee and violets
compared notes.
Meanwhile
in an orphaned city
where highways left byways
and flew over rabbits and tortoises
the road not taken
met the chosen path
and in gravel tones
smoothened by silences
talked of the lost maps of sanity
where
where we were before
has forever been erased.
There were also lemons
that had never heard of lemonade
pigs ignorant of bacon and sausage
lovers yet ignorant of heartache
delicate vases pouring scents
that twirl in Dry Zone dust
to gather the songs
of the voiceless.
There is blood and despair,
sunlight bested by cloud
trembling rain and grass
raw woodapple smiles
that creep under elephant fear
to flavor sambol and resurrections
no one will ever record.
There’s news of an earthquake
and a kidnapping
chips falling where they did
murder legal and otherwise
percolating the gastric juices
so necessary
for the consumption of the unpalatable.
And it rained
and it rains
gigantic turtles
escaped from an evolutionist’s cage
arrest eyes and time
and all things unregistered
commerce in the black markets of defeat
where the marrow of a city
lie amid scattered vegetables
too dead for resurrection.
In the rear view mirror
the road runs away
and the competitive spirit
brings closer the pursuer
people bend and swerve
up ante and give the V-sign
only to be stopped by red light
and pedestrian crossing
the accidental intersections
four letter words
that coin new vocabularies
in the consecration of impatience.
There’s a window pane
and a tree
a curtain and an alarm clock
conspiring to stop dream
and nightmare
a blue balloon and a kite
catching lightening and curse
watermelon pink
splattered on a pavement
where cats given up on love
settle for wayside food.
There are hands that would hold
eyes that will not close
a bedside vigil
in candle lit despair
a book with intoxicating ink
the music of turning pages
and hearts
so many times turned
inside out
that reverse works just as well.
There’s a foot step
on a footfallen landing
abandoned keys
and rust frayed knives
that cannot cut or blunt
and words that return
wearing unrecognizable vowels.
They gather at your feet
all these creatures of your making
they mean no harm
they dare not touch
they would not go
had they the choice
but will disappear with the first stirring
and you in half-sleep stupor
and fully awoken clarity
without cry or smile
will gather what’s left
from pre-sleep memory
toss it all into the garbage can
return to bed
and sleep.
Bless you, my child.
