Its bearings on Cair Paravel


-i can't stop thinking of that game we used to play.

-i was always all bruised up.

-i loved your bruises. little universes. 
they were the only way to tell that you were real.

-i'm not.
your eyes were so blue.
your eyes were a foggy ocean.

-they are no longer blue. without you i am no longer myself.
i am limbless, my vital organs are just cold air and the world fell asleep, shaking from the nightmares, a cold sweaty earth.

-but i have always tried to explain life to you in musical terms.
but i have always looked to you for words like foggy ocean.

-you were sitting in the middle of the street.
you left me, you were sitting in the middle of the street, alone.

-because the distance never mattered.
there was always a nagging and irresistible impulse to walk home.

-and home? home where?

-it's a plural. a morphing plural. you were a home, i swear you were.

- but you are a list of homes. i want a list of homes.

-everyones hands are a list of homes.
you look at yours, you press them to your face.
petting horses, their eyes open or closed.
dolphin sounds, honey kisses.

"i love you too"
tea steam, under covers.

keep going?
squeezing hands, touching eyes.
"i saw you standing in the corner
on the edge of a burning light."
an ice skating piano.
remember the smoke and the end of that movie? the snow?
remember the bar and that nirvana song, your notebook.
we will live in a house full of piles of lists of homes and then we will be free.

-"libre"

-the wind is blowing really hard. i never said i was a dream and i never claimed to be a dreamer, you said i could fly so i tried, i looked in foggy oceans, i always drowned. if it rains i'll think of you.

2 comments:

Carolyn said...

remember in one post you used the phrase 'air that's done too many drugs' i've remembered it for months

KERRY said...

i hope it treats you pretty.