Smoothness lost in transition.
Overwhelmed by movement,
Overwhelmed by composition.
Music streams through the heart.
• • •
We are waking again, again we are lingering.
I put you to rest when you were sad,
Scared and your limbs wouldn’t swing.
Your rag-doll momentum, I could not comprehend.
I had all the energy from your brain in this dream,
The past is full bodied and the present unravels.
I took the lines down, recorded the screams.
The future awaits us in a red dress and skeleton painted lips.
I wrote a fantasy, my sleep handwriting came in curled strokes.
I never had to redip the pen, thus the inkwell became lonely.
The noise it began as it boiled became a siren singing– eerie, baroque.
All the writers in the room dropped their pens and went to her.
I made the bed with soft sheets of burgundy silk,
The cats were in them at once, leaving themselves.
Leaving their shadows, only hair remained, with a trace of sour milk.
I can’t dream anymore so you have to wake up.
I can no longer carry the rag-doll limbs,
Support the flailing, swinging feet and dirty nails.
Or understand all needs, I change the ink on a whim.
Repeat it over again, “All life is precious.”
November 26, 2011 at 8:35 am
As a cancer patient I agree with you 100%. “All life is precious.” Correct!
Dr. Tom Bibey, author, “The Mandolin Case”