musings & scribbles

your rays,
  long, golding rays of Day’s Father,
   lay tame along your bare-blushed cheeks..

    oh, to grow them red, your cheeks,
     to lick with kiss left lingering,
      to unfold lips long chap’d
       with tongue’s lashings
        likened to striking-tip
         of quill..

          oh, how swift you lift eye from grounding,
           as though through limbs this gaze is floating,
            following the fall of your feet upon the carpet to
             your waist of hips rounded toward the floor
              and, facing cold restraint of rib with chest’s knocking loudly,
               this glance becomes but moment forgot-and-known in memory

having sat here,

                before the unpainted canvas

                                               in its infancy,

                                                       i now find this sprawling thought

                                                                                          of ripen’d ink to be as

such World..                                                                                                     capsized vessel

        expanse unforage’d, for                                                                                          caught

                                      its use grows lost                                                                      on single wave

                                                         on flattened sea,                                                                 off coast of World A’New–

                                                                           this driven:violent invert land

                                                                                                               of voyagers

                                                                                                                   voyeuring–

shhhkt

 of gear-horn’d beast

                       in silent awe-glance

                                   toward faden’d dragonbreath

                                                         spiral-searching

                                                                     skyward

…

   to be

          as

             shepher’d sheep

              on trodden ground in wont

              of given-grass

…

   to be

          as

             gulliver goat

              on errant way forage’d

              yet un-journey’d

…

When I listened to the learn’d breeze;

When my antennae, the hairs, sway-fell against the skin;

When I was shown how miniscule is the breath, bound to land, divided by the air;

When I, laying, listened to the learned breeze on tips of grass shaded by the moon,

How soon, wayward, I became light and spiring;

Till catching break of air, I drifted off from self,

In prodigal-pulse’d sky, and with rise of breath,

Wave’d in feather’d touching of the stars.

if the night were longer

i could hold you till the end of time,

watching the fireflies flicker

while their distant cousins herd slowly

across the pond of sky above us;

if the day were longer

i could take you across the world

with every kodak moment

to guide us to our next home of the hour,

never letting loose your fingers

because you’d never let go;

if our dreams were shorter

we could live them longer,

always catching up

on every new idea for how we could be together..

if this moment were longer

we’d be left smiling as this life passed us by.

is it

sad

that i miss you

after the petals fly

and the trees fall?

is it

sad that i wish to be

the pants you slip into,

the shirt that holds you so,

the smile you show only

when you know

i’m not around?

is it

pathetic to think

when my eyes wander

they’re looking for you?

is it

pitiful to know

when i lay down

i want you to be

the sheets ’round me,

the pillow i grasp,

the wind that comforts me?

thought may be but revolution centered on known knowledge
   while reaching toward knowledge not yet contemplated:

                                                                                               through contemplation on what is shall arise what is not
                                                                                               through contemplation on what is not shall arise what is

perhaps through thought’s revolutions the possibility arises of detachment from anchor’d weight of body:
 skin’s perceptions, eye’s perceptions, ear’s perceptions–
    all perceptions of the body become detached,
       and so detached is Thought itself–
 as multitudes of perception become wound together,
    solitary perception arises,
       floating as on stream of This Life;
          as flows this solitary perception,
             distance may chance to be
                and through distance the solitary perception continues as on stream,
                   falling as through translucent horizon–
                      though the solitary perception seems beyond the barrier of This World and This Life,
                         the solitary perception is still Present–
                            it is through great dettachment and great distance
                               that perhaps the solitary perception resurrects
                                  as though from nothing: perhaps anchor’d hold is given slack
                                     or merely overlooked is the constant existence of the solitary perception–
                                        for this, keep the distance constant, or increasing,
                                           so as to be aware of the solitary perception
                                              while leaving the solitary perception…
                                              : for, once stepping from womb,
                                                what benefit lies in dismissing womb as though nonexistent?
                                              : though through great meditation and being [not yet known by author]
                                                may these attachments of perception be known:
                                                as though they water run from cloud to unpored skin to earth to existence ever-cycling…

saRAH! mail me. now. to chris[at]vpoet[dot]net