She dreams of lust and lusts for dreams,
And there is more to her than what she seems —
For if you knew her in the dark, you’d know
A place you never dreamed you’d dare to go.
She dreams of you and longs for you,
And there, behind the lies, is what is true —
It might be more than you could take, believe:
If you walked in, you might not ever
Leave
If I wait to take my medicine, I can write a lot of poems before I start having seizures. I have about another hour before things start to get really bad, so I’m taking advantage of it for now. I was trying to post 48 new pieces in 24 hours; I couldn’t tell you why. It’s 8:13 AM as I write this, and I am in a hotel room with a day’s drive ahead of me.
Why we do what all we do,
I’m not sure and nor are you.
Climates change and tempers vary,
All of it seems arbitrary;
Some connection happens freely,
Most of us are frightened, really.
Couplets drone in empty sounding,
Hearts that hearken to keep pounding.
Why we do what all we do?
I don’t know, and nor
Do you
We may live in separate places:
When we die, we share our spaces.
In the ground, or burnt to dust:
Share we will, and die
We must
Write the gardens, sing the flowers,
Spring has told us of her glee:
Tell the tale from tallest towers,
Chant it with some urgency
All we have is now, or never,
Hearts are made to colorize:
Write the gardens, sing them ever,
Localize and maximize
The individual is real; abstractions are pointless vanities, save perhaps those of mathematics, which owes its existence to definitions. To theorize about the many is to know no one.
You I loved in silent meadows
Days of sun and secret shadows
Doubtable but not for preening
Holding hands and missing meaning
Kissing cares and finding pharaohs
Blundering on ancient barrows
April shaking off her shelling
Wondering in wan-step welling
You I knew in days of daring
Hyacinths and hares for caring
What is Love but knowing never
Save that you said always
Ever
We vow to live with promises,
Then spend our lives in offices;
And we had might have promised less
If what life is, we could have
Guessed
