A hundred feet,
Lined up all neat,
Sat down to eat
And share a tweet
“Oh, what a treat!”
“It was quite sweet!”
“To cook, a feat!
This big red beet!”
They’d then compete,
How quick the meat,
They could deplete!
A stationed fleet,
They’ve got no suite.
Took to the street
To flee the heat
But the Elite
Would smile discreet –
He had a seat
On cold concrete!
Now all replete,
Their meal complete,
Time to retreat
Those hundred feet.
He’s opening the door,
It’s her voice, quite higher than his,
whispering about how big the cockroaches have been getting lately.
He holds the door,
But he pushes her away.
She’s waiting down below, swimming with spirits again.
He closes the door,
Vein attempts to keep the howling out
It doesn’t open until he hears her limping back to the forest.
I’ve heard a word about this world of which you so softly speak,
Where everyone halts and finds no faults and nothing is so bleak.
Where I could tout and I could talk and say all that’s on my mind,
And it’d be true – through and through – no hidden roots for you to find.
Honest back and forth – from henceforth – to such a place I gladly would belong!
But as I write, could it be right? Perhaps I’ve lived there all along.
Forget all other moments,
I hear her whisper forcefully
of the touches,
the lips tracing faces,
the hands molding curves.
Remember this instead;
My tight cold grasp
as I squeeze your heart.
The unwelcome lurch
in your stomach.
Let me emerge from the darkest greens
in the canopy of your mind
and ignite the uneasiness and concern.
Let me bathe in the festering misery.
Let it be my permanent home.
Nurture dear, these half-closed eyes
Take to where the Sleeper lies
Deep into the plain of dreaming men
So that tomorrow, I could wake again
Cautiously, I repositioned my feet and braced myself against the playful gusts. My eyes peered over the edge, following the gravel as it descended from cliff to water.
The ocean roared at the preemptive sacrifice, waves foaming with bloodlust.
In another step – the brink. But I could go no further.
As I began to turn, a child appeared beside me on the cliff: a son I would have in thirty years’ time. My own disappointed eyes looked back at me: Had I not followed through? Had my stories of peril and grandeur been mere myth?
I grinned at the kid.
And we jumped together.