Tough fists shadow boxing in an alley.
Valley of Death, valley of loss, of night,
closing in, punching the dark strips
of the night, unburned by the stars.
She is sweating, tired and taut, wire
pulled too tight over too far a distance.
The shadows are coming down, eternal.
She might break and snap open the sky.
Silent, but there are sirens, laughing drunks,
and distant music, and people who are free.
Silent, but the darkness in her head, in her life,
the shadows getting hooks in her flushed skin.
What can she fight, that cannot be touched,
cannot be lost like sanity and love and passion,
that lingers forever in these nights and heartbreak?
Fighting others in the ring will be over, be won.
But shadows never leave, only cast back by momentary light.
And light fades, and becomes distant, and leaves us defenseless.
She boxes the shadows coming down on her, on her world.
Never ending, never defeated, just pushed back, for a moment.
A laugh. A touch. A kiss. But always waiting, always roaring back in the night.
Came for escape, for a laugh or two.
But she looks like her, the one I love,
who doesn’t care for me.
A knot in my chest, a sharp cold in my heart,
laughing at the jokes, but her eyes are yours,
her beauty that devilish dream of the other.
The other, the queen of sorrows, brokeness.
That girl on the screen, is not like her, is sweet,
but being the other’s doppleganger spoils it all.
I try to wash away that face afterwards, with angry
music and a fire to burn away the images, and love,
and all the damning things I ever wanted.
The star in the night I want to sail by.
But the light harshly burns my skin,
even in the dark, even by the moon.
Your eyes of blue cloud over darkly,
with storms to pour down upon me,
to wash me from the sea.
I sail on, foolishly, when you seek
for me to fall under dark waves,
and lose all light into the abyss.
Why do I love your light,
when it burns, when it whips
up the tempest to wash me away?
It all kills me, light setting a heart
to eat itself in desire, to reach that
which will consume all it’s blood.
Wash me over, wash me down,
let the abyss take me now forever,
so I will be free, of you, and all I want.
You love whom you love.
The angel whose tears burn your skin.
The sorceress who lights the sun to light the grave.
The disciple who worships the god that cut out your tongue.
And I love you. I don’t want to, but I do.
I love you, and heaven is embers in my eyes.
The road could take us down, down to the sea.
We could talk through the night, for all eternity.
The road could take us west, to snowy peaks,
where ancient dreams and a soft angel speaks.
The road could take us to paradise, or a calm.
We’d never run out of sun and love, a soothing balm.
You don’t have to go back, I will keep you near.
I will keep you with me, make every demon disappear.
I remember when you were a little girl, so bright.
All love and laughter and energy, always a delight!
I remember the drive to be the best, to be your best.
I don’t know what you trying to outrun, put to rest.
I remember the time spent talking, and planning it all.
I hope I didn’t push you too much, set you up to fall.
I remember the far away looks out the window, traveling.
I don’t know that something was burning, you were unraveling.
This road could drive us to Fairbanks, or Galveston, or New York.
We could have ice cream or fancy meals with red wine to uncork.
Roadside attractions or historical places, or just drive to the end.
We could find Eden in Missouri, or the starlight on the wind.
Just tell me where and we’ll go, any place that can make you shine again.
There’s no judges here, no crowds or trophies, any race for you to win.
You don’t have to go back, I’ll keep you here with me, fighting torment.
You don’t have to go back, to the lonely school where darkness forments.
Stay with me.
Stay with me.
Let’s go to the sea.
Stay with me.
Big Texas sky with a bright, bright sun.
You are beside me baby, you’re the one.
Yellow and black cheerleader uniform
matching my muscle car in it’s perfect form.
We’re going places baby, down to the coast.
We’re going to the sea, like the heavenly host.
That song so joyous playing, the windows down,
your chestnut hair flowing, leaving this town.
Down to Galveston, to the edge of the sea.
Down to the water, paradise for you and me.
And I’ve got the money to make a new start
and this world won’t break us, or tear us apart.
A little place right on the beach, hear the waves.
The place for you and me and our souls it saves.
She dresses in finest Sunday satin, black and clean.
She has white silk ribbons tied up in raven tresses.
“Bury me” She says.
The cemetery, bright in a spring sun, is growing green.
She waits in her finery, a strange star in her blue eyes.
“Bury me.” She says.
“I am empty of blood and organs. I am empty of light.”
“I wears these flowery perfumes to please you, for cover.”
“Bury me” She says.
I touch her cheek, so warm and blushing, I give my best smile.
“I can see the stars in your eyes and the sun in your pretty face”
“I won’t bury you.” I say.
She sighs, weary, and sits on a marble stone with a mourning angel.
“I am gone. I am gone” She says. “I want to be put in my grave.”
“Bury me.” She says.
Dreaming of Paris in spring, as I look out the window at dreary winter.
Dreaming of riding on narrow streets on a scooter, a pretty girl holding on to me,
her dark hair blowing behind her like the banner of Joan of Arc,
and with all the holiness of a love divine.
The mountains block the sky, the clouds ever low and colorless.
I dream of her, Francoise Hardy on my headphones, as the bus rolls on,
of her face veiled in cigarette smoke, and her smile cruel and full of promises,
walking hand in hand in ancient streets.
Dark hair, perfumed and silky, just us in the regal and pristine moonlight.
Someplace better than the rut in the earth that is this fucking town.
Filling my face with those dark locks, feeling the soft warmth of her skin,
as we kiss, kiss deep and hard and passionately, as the sun rises up.
There is only us. Only a fire.
The stars are wonders.
The stars are beautiful.
The stars are distant.
They cannot help us.
Or light us. Or warm us.
There is only a fire.
We huddle close.
Hold each other.
Last of undissipated warmth.
Last of our desperate race.
The world is dead.
The fire will go out.
Then we will die.
A fire in depths of space.
A world born and thriving.
Apes grew up to be men.
Men grew up to cruel.
There was gold and light.
Darkness drowned it in blood.
The light went out.
There is us. There is the fire.
The night is cold, will not end.
My tears fall in your hair as I hold you.
The fire is sickly and dim now.
When it goes, we go to, into darkness.
Silence, only our heartbeates calling.
I love you.
“Mother.” The Shepherdess thinks, looking at her flock,
at the grown ones and the little spring lambs hopping
and running, excited and joyous in the sunlight.
The sky above is endless and unbroken, but is
fading to black and smatterings of stars,
and the light of the tired and ambivalent moon.
The Shepherdess touches her belly, tenderly and unsure.
Her child is within her, just starting to grow, to dream.
The morning is arriving when she is waiting in an afternoon.
The sheep lay down to sleep, and she makes her own bed,
and dreams of the stars, and lights that come at night.
Afternoon will become night, morning will become afternoon.