“I Could Have Called”
I could have called last night, you
Know; you’d have answered, of course, and we,
Removed, should conquer these deserted walls; the you and me
Expressing wonder and ecstasy de facto that two
Fine tunes in a single space find nothing in our words;
No lyrics, no grandiloquent prophesies, no binding ties,
No coy deception, fitting deposition, or bold-faced lies
To truss up seams, loose and dwindling ends; just birds
Of prey whose festive table breeds in fables, birdseed, curds
In whey–nothing offered, nothing taken–
Gilded fare in a God-forsaken
Intercourse that breathes perhaps in syllables, but nowhere near a word,
Stentorian sensations that somehow subdue a nightly desperation,
Declarations masked in stilted mantras ripe with endless repetition.
Posted in Aging, Appearances, Departures, Divorce, Ends, Estrangement, Fables, Hypocrisy, Negation, Poetry, Relationships, Separation, Walls
Tagged Existence, Lyric Poetry, poetry, Relationships, Sonnet, Strife, Tragic Flaw
Monotony abides the inverse to eternity since we last prayed,
And so to arms and legs, and chest, a shallow glimpse into the mirror’s relay
There with all angels and their demons on track,
Mental ferris wheels to feed the ego. Creature comforts and divorce
(Whichever comes to mind) as skin and moisture, open nostrils
In the midst and mist of hostile winds and waters, lesser thrills
Than what you thought you’d find there in the tub.
But then, you’ve done it all, . . . what lamp to rub,
What nerve to prick to wake the dead within
Or titillate the whole without, and feel the skin
Of something close to human and possibly alive.
So much to do at fours and fives
In autumn afternoons or deep in winter’s snows: so creeps the dusk
Of possibles in the binding of the summer’s ledger and maybes in the dust.