Wednesday, July 8, 2009

The Symphonic Kindness of Escalators (poem in prose)

written 7/8 on this blog. It's all an experiment.

There is light beyond the window. Two men have come in the door. The coffee is a weight lifter in shabby tights and inspiration a desert scroll found by a shepherd who sells cheap. I think I will never love him, proof the tears of justice roll free. I remember wanting to be loved.

I remember cobra charms of suffering. Desire and the aching to burn like a lesser god light years away. Do stars expand? Do humans?

Trust the visible and outstretched.

I found a guide, well, not a guide, a fact. Oh, I love my fact. The heroine lets her co-star have what emotions he can. It is not her business. Knowledge is separation from grime and joining with the five o'clock rush.

Which moves like a river by a picnic wanting the children to tickle its flowing blues. Nothing is immovable. Hate burns out with a sputter in Hafez's hand. That sign on your brow is a bookmark.

Infirmities kaleidoscope into health. We can't expect such but need to trust the symphonic kindness of escalators.

You cannot sigh. You are not done. Remember compassion. Forget the rest and your shoes won't pinch. Two lovers struggle to join in a battle of flesh, flanks and koi in a contrived pond. You are four stars and a thumbs up. Two hands and a firmament of infinite reach. A stairway to the next level.

I will need your help. Accept my hand. I offer a gray cloak of moss. It will grow on you, trust me.

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