Thursday, November 19, 2015
because we'll never know the rest of the way
i wonder how it will be meeting you again
the world is not that large
it is small enough
chances are
we might come across each other again
i know i wouldn't know
what to make of it
chances are
you will appear indifferent exactly the way
versions of you did in
survival stories
something over
the many other lovers left in your wake
because i wasn't blind all along
because neither of us were blind
we knew all along, it was over
chances are
we knew all along, it would be over
chances are
we knew we wouldn't be over.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
what comes in the end
what comes in the end after beer.
we talk about multi-modality
how so many different things mean
different on their own and different
when happening simultaneously.
the mind always attempts to mean.
platforms can change. so are worlds.
even though they essentially remain
the same. what comes in the end
after beer. i take the slow walk home.
feeling the lightness of the new
walking boots she gave me. dark blue
the colour of deep sea. and quiet.
some forms of serenity. a thought
came over talk asking is this the way
it feels before dying? ha ha ha.
about half a year left before leaving.
we did not toast. he is leaving too.
scotland. i name two states, where
the wind blows i go. the cosmos.
she remains to wait. i am already
thinking of coming home to her.
where really home is. we did not
toast. i come home walking slow
the sky is november too clear.
beautiful women so beautiful it hurts
the way one feels the loss of many
things. time and other lives.
this one now being what is had.
my dogs call out from feet away
sensing my return. some loves
are perfect that way no matter
how unperfect the receiver.
what comes in the end after
beer. a sweet kind of sadness.
the kind also known as gratitude.
Labels:
animals,
fate,
gentleness,
jazz,
labyrinth,
leaving,
long distance relationships,
love as something real,
negative space,
ocean,
promise,
The Diary of the World's Sadness,
the dog lover,
worldview
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Saturday, November 7, 2015
where you and i are
Names can be deceiving.
A letter, when given to a room
Ceases the room to be.
What is a room?
Room that is in a house, that is in
A life, that is a space
To occupy as love would
Inhabit a time.
And loving, a state of habitation.
Where you and I are, shall we
Receive a name for it or forgoing
Let the where itself be.
I thought of a lover by another name
In another way, is still a lover.
As love is afraid and brave
Certain of uncertain.
Labels:
apples,
beautiful things,
bottles,
Denise Levertov,
distance,
eve,
labyrinth,
lines,
marsh,
space,
terrarium
Thursday, November 5, 2015
My Father's Birthday
My father's birthday yesterday, I remember but chose not to
Say anything, choosing to remember why not.
The backstory is long, kept away in a partially closed room
Not far from where most people stay to admire the garden
Among others. Stoicism is plenty, so is civility.
Keeping surface clear, spotless from hostility as a glass table.
My mother expected me to call. I am always never
Too far from anything I chose. She must be upset now
Not replying to my message left like an after thought
Pretending forgetfulness. Of course, she knows and chose
Not to remember. My poor brave mother whose dreams
Must have been as bright as she before bearing a child
So similar in many ways to the father who, too, must have been
As bright as any bright and dreaming young man before
He succumbed to secret darknesses.
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