Wednesday, March 30, 2011


.... and it is a morning 
dawned overcast & steel grey 
a cardinal sings .....
but green is lingering just there, below the brown surface of things 
jackson browne is playing somewhere in this hollow house
where are the songs for people like us ?
no one writes about the fondness that stands outside the 
borders of time,
no one writes the haunting, sliding feeling that steals into one's heart ...
and no one touches upon the jihad of the soul 
there were other lifetimes, other valleys crossed ...
other bodies where these threads of angst were caught.
or -  perhaps it's found in every line
every verse
every truthful note
it's discovered in the breath held - a pause in the words on a line - white spaces where
some things are always better left unreconciled ....
funny really ... how one can see past the cloak :
"the killer in me knows the killer i see in you 
and the lover in me, sees the lover in you"...
ahh , i have heard the torment of your desire
& faced my own shattered porcelain need
as it lays upon the cold hard floor 
perhaps the joy lies in the discovery of what lies
beyond the broken
beyond the script .....
with the promise of 
a cerulean blue sky and 
the return of sunshine . . .

1 comment:

  1. . . a nod & thanks to Amy Speace for the line from "The Killer in Me"