I Want to Know
Where does this yawning ache occur...?
A corner draped in shadows of a window-shade in wait
that calls us to rise and draw it’s hung skin back...
...Perhaps I should finally float up now
and pull them with a final swift tug...
I don’t know what to expect as a return reaction.
The wind outside shifts, and we are left out
in the absence of our redeemer...
Sleep draws [TAPERS] us like streamers
Back through the velvet curtain
red and rolled in the sanctity of a shoal
that in our wake, ebbs, and follows...
The moon is dawning over yonder
and just miles behind her...
...man has tried, missed,
and made his marks...
as the imprints of a face caught
fumbling with Ethos in the dark.
Try, and try he may...until the sun falls down,
and the shape of shade it’s left is so expansive,
it swallows up our forlorn man in transit
between this world and the fading next...
...It’s really the flexing of uh tickle in the world’s
heaving chest,
rising and tumblin’ like a troubled tide,
or a tire that’s expired leaky sewage air out at long last...
I’ve caught another man,
the recipient of this bad paint-job of a house
out on his foggy porch and coughing
On a lonely weekend afternoon...
He weaves his web too long, and the world’s deception
chains him to me.
He’s poisoned by the all encroaching gloom
that he has to wrestle on his fateful trip to bed...
...The bold China trees are clutching trash that’s blown their way,
and Ol’ Gratie McFinnigin can only pound his rubber hammer for just so long
before our universe’s wheels appear, now fiercely spinning(spitting up shrapnel in bed)...
..Gratie asks me if I’m nervous...
″...Do you see them?...
They are winning,
as they beat all ass to get home ’fore the final roll call
picks tired our bones for clues...”
Gratie’s always grinning through his teeth and turning blue...
...I’ve accepted that he does exist,
and thus he finally do
in the thick and the long of things...
We will meet and we will share a chat...
I like him for his that or other tossed reflections of past selves,
and if we have a spat, we’ll just
return here once again and shelf
our worries for a another juncture.
...the wind outside shifts...and we are both thoroughly punctured by our union,
though we’d never ever mention
it again for the rest of our life...not ever...
© Bunny Villaire & Mavia Hankala