Tag Archives: motorcycles

From the left seat I can see that you were right

11 Nov

I reside in heavens

when we fly it’s very clear

the bigger organism we

are apart of/from up

here/now vision clouded

with/by ether, our lives below

the bible thumping belt, so rare

did you think I wasn’t looking when you quietly ordered

yourself back into submission from the menu

or was that for those to whom you say life is good like comfort food for breakfast

on saturday just before noon in our pajamas with the radio playing/the smell of grease

and gasoline in your hair, citrus on the wind

real maple syrup and bacon/your favorite

race on television. We did things

on that leather couch that would embarrass the children if they existed

we spooned entire days into a bowling ball bag

you won/lost, as if we had nothing

more important to do than touch each other until we did

or maybe we only manufactured that/you

came down from your mountain-top to pull me up

and I was so grateful I gave you things

to desire instead

of me/but when I called down to you from mine

you couldn’t hear me any more

than when I used to tell you

I had a dream

in the night/you reached

out for me from your

fear of light/sleepers

women pilots

weak people

distrust

and we would fly

blindly, madly

in love with passenger seats, advanced

stall warning recovery

whether predictions

down-shifting, flights planned

restricted/visual ceiling fan rules

taking precedence under the covers

your feet my pedals

clutching, crabbing

our forte

negative g-forced

free fall

Chapter 3 – The Silver Flute, Pt. 3

28 Sep

The confrontation. In her breathless trance I feel that I am becoming a shadow on the wall. I am volumizing – my insides fading out, while my body remains solid and a melody still flowing from her fingers. I open my eyes and exclaim, I felt myself disappearing! The person at my side laughs as if I am making a joke. She recites this poem to me:

The ceremony

Begins

As I gather supplies

For my journey

Over my shoulder

A flute made of silver

To guide me

And serve as protector

Led by the moon

Are my feet marching on

My eyes absorb her brightness

Mindless

Of my destination

Once there

We have a seat and play

The walls surround

Catch sound

Sending it every way and upward

Lovers swoon

At my sorrowful tune

While still others seem disturbed

Until finally I am desserted

Left alone to play a wind song for the birds of

Night and you

Have come to join me

I found her in a pool of her own blood. A bullet through her brain. Another drive-by shooting? Perhaps. Kids these days are so paranoid they probably thought she was planning to open fire with a small silver cannon. Anyway, no one saw the tire tracks inside the court until Dawn arrived and pointed them out to us. She had a special interest in the case. We at the precinct found her forte in seemingly meaningless crimes and especially murder, well – exploitable. I had to grin when I realized the pun I’d made in connection with the blood spattered sheet music spread all around the girl. It seemed she wouldn’t be around for a second refrain. I was just trying to make out some notes when Dawn explained the tracks were that of a motorcycle driven by a heavy set man in his early thirties. She had determined all of this from the width and pattern of the tire tracks – nothing more. It was the conservative, yet seasoned way he made his way around the small court that had her convinced the man who murdered this small, now silent angel was no kid.

Chapter 2 – My Self Is

10 Aug

My self is

Foreign to me now

How I wish that I

Might find the woman who

Lives inside my body

She told me a story once

About a man

I can believe her if I choose

She said

Someday you will be happy, I promise

And he said

I love you

Chapter 2 – I Alone

19 Jul

Oh, the joy of pen and hand

Coming together

To create

As boundless as time

Yet we wear watches warily waiting

The freedom of words

To flow

To etch on off-white paper

Feelings

History

Hours passing

Phone calls like owl’s eyes

Watching, peering

Remindful of responsibility

Productivity

Night grown cold

Fingers shaking

I am awake and you are with me

Still it is I

I alone

I hold the power

To shape my life

To make it flower

Chapter 2 – Waiting

19 Jul

How much wasted time

Is spent on waiting

How much energy becomes

Useless, meaningless

Pacing or tapping of the fingers

What are we waiting for anyway?

A phone call

A bus

A letter

A trust

Waiting breeds apprehension

Brings chaos to bubbling minds

It is a constant reminder

Of what will be

Or could be

If only we wait

Remember your promise

To be happy

Someday?

Why wait

Chapter 2 – Ballad for the Death of Lofty

19 Jul

The flowers still bloom

In the spot where she killed

Old Lofty

Her gun as cold and hard as

Her woman’s heart of steel.

Folks around here claim

The blood and stench

Of the unburied

Left its mark

Where once the earth was arid

There grows an immaculate garden

Among exotic blooms

Lofty’s bones take in the sun.

Perhaps his death was meant to be

And the woman meant to be praised

For in this town of three-hundred

And one

So fine a flower was never grown.

Still, we saw the woman hanged

And we buried the remains

And the people of the town agreed

Poor old Lofty had not died in vain.

Chapter 2 – From afar

13 Jul

My body often speaks about wanting

You

In strange ways it tells me to return to

You

I’ve only seen the kind of things I

Dream

On t.v. or in a magazine

I couldn’t even describe to you the

Scene

If you asked

Even now as I write

I can only think of you

And how far away you are

So instead of feeling alone

I recall the myth of loneliness

Instead of thinking of home

I’ll make a new one

In my heart for

You

From afar

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