rain makes memory
sober jewels rest
something of discontent rattles a chain
against rapport gushing genuine
its a broken sky
yesterday I stepped upon a magnolia
leaf on the ground
there is a statue of Pan
holding a naked woman
in the courtyard
it's solitude and it is not painful
as much as it is unusual
today is the ending of one cycle
tomorrow is the beginning of something new
I nod off and become enlightened
that perfection is only a state of mind
not the completion or the complexity
of any one thought
I keep reminding myself of the phrase
"someday you'll know..."
for me October and Florida are intertwined
not as a migration or the soul's end
I am listening to that metaphysical cord
telling me, it will all be fine
I reluctantly agree.
October 17, 2007
Miami, FL
© 2007 woundedlordliterature
ШAMPO
The Philosophy of a Broken Neck (SCBW 2007)
rereading Bukowski’s
“through the streets of anywhere”
I marked a page of this old book
because of a line that astounded me
to a bitter reconciliation
“…frozen like God’s head
holding an apple in the window”
it’s like murder in threefold
a million and one years have passed
by since memory
of blue chairs & linoleum
echoed as orange sliding
partitions pillowed my soul
I have forgotten as much as I knew
then ole Solitude Cowboy, buddy
o’ mine
you slip in and out of my fantasy
like the peerless gate you guard
I am not singular, nor dualistic
my heart’s phantoms have given
way to sincerer venues
I wonder, at this moment, what
St. Augustine thinks of being a blade
of grass
summer ends and debutantes
lose their tiaras
I want to be a Moorish Orpheus
wandering about in a golden robe
singing my song for you
a linear love dressed as a shield
somewhere in that long ago
brittle from the cold
bereft of delusion
the quiet empty monotone
steps in the snow
gladly welcomed me
not as a shadow of a ghost
or an addendum to failure
nor as a mystic pirate
loosed from the sea
as a gentleman in an unkind
time; bracing for a metaphoric
awakening, stunned,
to design a blind watchmaker’s
sonnet
ШAMPO
“through the streets of anywhere”
I marked a page of this old book
because of a line that astounded me
to a bitter reconciliation
“…frozen like God’s head
holding an apple in the window”
it’s like murder in threefold
a million and one years have passed
by since memory
of blue chairs & linoleum
echoed as orange sliding
partitions pillowed my soul
I have forgotten as much as I knew
then ole Solitude Cowboy, buddy
o’ mine
you slip in and out of my fantasy
like the peerless gate you guard
I am not singular, nor dualistic
my heart’s phantoms have given
way to sincerer venues
I wonder, at this moment, what
St. Augustine thinks of being a blade
of grass
summer ends and debutantes
lose their tiaras
I want to be a Moorish Orpheus
wandering about in a golden robe
singing my song for you
a linear love dressed as a shield
somewhere in that long ago
brittle from the cold
bereft of delusion
the quiet empty monotone
steps in the snow
gladly welcomed me
not as a shadow of a ghost
or an addendum to failure
nor as a mystic pirate
loosed from the sea
as a gentleman in an unkind
time; bracing for a metaphoric
awakening, stunned,
to design a blind watchmaker’s
sonnet
October 15, 2007
Miami, FL
© 2007 woundedlordliterature
ШAMPO
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