Member Rara Avis
-love and cellophane-
Take a left toward the beach,
Hold the silence of boats and birds.
Listen to conversations in the sand.
(shell to water:
lately, you've been cold.
water to shell:
this relationship's getting old.)
Look out an obscure pane at the waves.
From the dockhouse, they seem to barely waver,
Barely cover till you get closer.
Once you're properly chilled,
You'll realize your reasoning is a wheel with holes.
Not jettisoning spokes of light,
Just deflating in sags of rubber.
It was a collision of gold that caused the break,
Seeing spokes of light from someone else's wheel.
You thought its simple existence would bear you home,
Covering you in attractive, confident truth.
You didn't realize she was just better at pretending than you.
Her mind was an isolated music scene:
windchimes, clock gear percussion, damaged xylophone teeth,
solos salted, sobs frosted;
the list is exhausted.
But as you both glowed, touching together on the dock,
You were tearing yrselves slowly apart.
Eighteen degrees of separation:
mind to mind, body to body, eye to eye, blood to blood,
bone to bone, home to home, fear to fear, gear to gear,
ear to ear, tooth to tooth, lie to truth; finish list as needed.
The architecture is daunting and haunted.
Happy or not, here they come.
You two are so in love with bed,
Do you remember the color blue?
You thought your flat tire had become a potter's wheel.
Creation -- spinning, loping creation! finally in your view.
She thought her music was stronger with him,
But only the deaf sensed its vibrations.
Before him, she had felt alone.
Contempt bore her body around.
Seeing others happiness;
"Oh, I could do that!"
Now with him, she's an expert.
Through a lens of magnified anger she doesn't understand,
She leans into him, bitter smiling.
"Here's hoping you're feeling better."
Shell and water, some bits of sand,
Floating in a cup, months of reflection,
Steeped in light and sound.
Some late unpleasantness.
Too many hammers at dawn.
Too much like a cactus highway --
Control zero, starting back down.
But she shares details with her friends.
Yes, it would be really pretty for them;
Makeup over the lack.
Now it's killing music.
Slow loping brain cells
Lulled in their cells,
Talking on their cells,
Drawing what happiness must look like on cels.
His cellophane layer is torn.
Something beating beneath causes it to buzz,
Distorts his smile.
Fake clouds and instant rice.
Both are looking for replacements.
Both are feeling real nice.
(sand to foot:
please stop stepping on me.
no. crushing you sets me free!)