Friday, February 26, 2010

too late to pray

I cannot holler that loud anymore
I cannot hold on
I cannot see through the gauzy guise of your gaze
I cannot fall through speed at first light
I am not singing much anymore

Forward thinking back to a time that ticks before clocks
& doing made-up things
like harvesting moonlight

I cannot fail to freely fall all over everything
I cannot overcome my own ways
I am spilling out my big wide open spaces
I am ferreting out a care
I am draining sap & socking it to things
I am shooting all the ladders from the sky

Bailing out this shipwrecked thingamajig with tin cups and rusted dreams
& this man-o’-war is peaceful underneath
& hail won’t stop pelting the hale
& the world is just another thing to trip upon
& etcetera just won’t cut it anymore

Passengers ejected like sling-shot toy soldiers
Parallel lines drawn in together and sweeping towards each other ever so closer than close just so they can never touch
Tarnished thoughts
Dippers that are either small or big
The water is hot
Get in

I cannot grub for food
I cannot forest
I cannot fetch

Strictly bush-league sadness cresting in all those
Amateur hours of minor purpose
Saddled and hampered with fairytale songs
Rascal puffs and other fancy stuff
Things like this or things like that
Done with paper

I cannot go
So leave me be
I cannot leave
So just go away

the rain falls hard on the streets