bathtub
at the moment spending any time away from writing feels like sneaking away behind the back of a lover - guilty, unsettling, mind always half there. i love what's happening between the pages though. things like this :
bathtub
i call you little fish
pull you from the front door to the tiny bathroom splashed with tulips in glasses,
fresh ones under the mirror and the wilted dozing over the filling tub
night falls as we sink groaning into hot water
i look at you and i disappear
You hold my hand as it shakes a little,
Hovering in front of me like a blind man’s feelers
We’re walking into land I don’t know
Cause love has never
Held my hand for that long before
wisecracking cunts (occulture)
our regular date comes around,
3 hours every 3 years
i had missed your singing
to digest life’s casual backhand blow
but today we stroll the market holding hands,
“Look at that. We did land back in Europe”
as if yesterday,
backpacks still feisty as fresh horses
on these greater motherland soils
we’re slowly trickling into
it’s that old scene again,
the witches sit on benches
under rain stars and fire
and discuss devotion
from men who are children,
kids rise in great conjunctions on the horizon
and the chop-wood tending, tending to our temples.
a day of mermaids
you have this way of saying things sometimes -
you steal away time’s breath
with the caress of truth in your words
“ the world would be better
if people did
less. “
questions (part 2) Devil’s advocate
You watch me rant
With a knowing smile
and ever the devil’s advocate,
You remind me
“But you also tell me :
I’m not going anywhere.”
questions (part 1)
questions reveal the asker
more than any given answer.
how many come to ask of this love
“but are you committed?”
oh, i’m committed -
but only to truth
and to following love’s wild, meandering ways