Saturday, April 11, 2015

in medias res.

[Well, where do we start when we're already in the middle of things?
Let's take a few nights to drive this starlight world outside,
i'm afraid the weight of waiting any more nights upon nights will crush us,
bones to dust and dust to darkness and memories and all.]

Total silence now, for night and nightfall and everything after.
The cloak of dusky purple shrouds us as pinhole stars wink to life through night's velvety folds.
I'm by my own side, roadside, under the boughs of some big and bending mimosa tree.
The sounds of cicadas are the only sign I'm not alone.
I think to myself what was it like before, peering through
the fingers in a handmade fan of mimosa fronds, and I sigh.
I can feel the barkless tree against my back like some giant spine.
At first, I was fine with it being this simple, but now I'm not so sure.
Now, I'm certain I want it all. I fall asleep to the sounds of the breeze,
And your radio through your open window.
And I don't want to leave.

I marched right up to the wrought iron, to your screen door
with a script fully prepared, sharpied glossy photos and index cards.
It's a history worth nothing, but it's worth a shot.
How I've spent these past six months of nights without you, I still scream for you,
Still dream of you - fuck - it could have been so real. But the mold is cast, and times change,
I've changed, and it's total silence for now, it's ceasefire, it's peace and solace for now,
But we can't progress any faster when I offer my words, and you drop them to my feet,
Your radio is the only thing that crackles with life,
And I don't want to leave, but ...

My body will barely bear the ash and salt from us,
My lungs will heave, and I know
You don't know what I'm capable of,
But I want, I can't do anything but leave,
Won't you let me leave?

Permission granted,
We'll catch winds far from home, return from these things that we don't know.
We'll distance ourselves,
Permission granted,
To strangle myself slowly.