And there it goes now again,
Trinkets and snippets,
Whipped up in a windless whippet,
Caught and carried through dreamless air
To a foreign lair.
And here I hold you tight again,
As if today’s embrace could shorten
Tomorrow’s distance and the odds of coming back,
Where dark is dearly held and clearly black.
And in an age I do not know;
But who could put their finger on,
Or be the zeitgeist of-
This exploded view, this swirling shifting rage.
I would like to say I caught,
A glimpse of form in all I saw,
An edge, a purpose, to the order of things,
But I saw naught, my head just rings.
My dreams annoint my day with shadowed balm,
And at the centre churns the central calm.
I copy, paste, and cut myself apart,
I wander, waste, and mute my wounded heart.
You go again where some wind dictates,
And hanging over count the pastries baked.
The guilt I drift in ranges far from this-
The roads from where I lie to where I kiss.
