She was last seen twirling down route 94
By the newspaper delivery men
Fully dressed in dervish costume
At four thirty in the morning.
Having driven down the road,
The police have confirmed that she either entered
The woods, or was picked up along the way.
But knowing Rita, I think it was something else entire.
She always spoke of Heaven, and how one day
She would find it.
The dervishes believe that if they spin fast enough,
They will take off
And reach the Home of the Soul.
Rita held the secret of this miracle in her eyes.
When I think of her now, I can see her
Whirling up from the dark hills
Toward Heaven, past the stars
Which play like children in the Earth-bound sky.
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Monday, November 9, 2015
Electric Woman
Dark house silhouetted against a violet sky.
Within, on dusty wooden floorboards,
The electric woman dances.
Made of purple light,
She waves her emerald shawl
Of living silk that breathes
A thousand singing voices in harmony.
Awake, I watch from my window
Across the street, holding on tight to my blanket,
Trying not to sleep.
Within, on dusty wooden floorboards,
The electric woman dances.
Made of purple light,
She waves her emerald shawl
Of living silk that breathes
A thousand singing voices in harmony.
Awake, I watch from my window
Across the street, holding on tight to my blanket,
Trying not to sleep.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Between Silence and Sound
Between the mighty ocean of sound
And the bubbling freshet of silence
Lie the craggy peaks of chaos.
I have taken the journey across,
But not on wings.
With each step, I felt
The pains of doubt and recrimination.
It was in these waters
That I gave voice to the silence
And solemnity to sound.
And the bubbling freshet of silence
Lie the craggy peaks of chaos.
I have taken the journey across,
But not on wings.
With each step, I felt
The pains of doubt and recrimination.
It was in these waters
That I gave voice to the silence
And solemnity to sound.
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Spring Descends
I feel as if I could spark a fire
Under your breath
And dine with wisdom
Until there is no knowledge left.
Becoming more savage than a child
Torn from the breast,
I ease my way into the noble disease
Perfected by centuries of masochism.
Where, oh where, will the Spring descend?
Upon the expectant graves
Or upon this, the awakening page?
Under your breath
And dine with wisdom
Until there is no knowledge left.
Becoming more savage than a child
Torn from the breast,
I ease my way into the noble disease
Perfected by centuries of masochism.
Where, oh where, will the Spring descend?
Upon the expectant graves
Or upon this, the awakening page?
Haven
I am slowly stuffing my life
Into a bag
And concocting dreams for money.
(The sun offers up gifts each morning,
Redeeming the Earth for my waking eyes.)
The more I trespass into the haven
Of musical bounty,
The more I am left parched for the nectar of song.
Begone, muse! Lift
Your shadow of light
Before my retinas burn!
Into a bag
And concocting dreams for money.
(The sun offers up gifts each morning,
Redeeming the Earth for my waking eyes.)
The more I trespass into the haven
Of musical bounty,
The more I am left parched for the nectar of song.
Begone, muse! Lift
Your shadow of light
Before my retinas burn!
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