We sit together and talk, or smoke in silence. You say (but use no words) 'this night is passing As other nights when we are dead will pass. . . ' Perhaps I misconstrue you: you mean only, 'How deathly pale my face looks in that glass. . . '
You say: 'We sit and talk, of things important. . . How many others like ourselves, this instant, Mark the pendulum swinging against the wall? How many others, laughing, sip their coffee-- Or stare at mirrors, and do not talk at all? . . .
'This is the moment' (so you would say, in silence) When suddenly we have had too much of laughter: And a freezing stillness falls, no word to say. Our mouths feel foolish. . . For all the days hereafter What have we saved--what news, what tune, what play?
'We see each other as vain and futile tricksters, -- Posturing like bald apes before a mirror; No pity dims our eyes. . . How many others, like ourselves, this instant, See how the great world wizens, and are wise? . . . '
Well, you are right. . . No doubt, they fall, these seconds. . . When suddenly all's distempered, vacuous, ugly, And even those most like angels creep for schemes. The one you love leans forward, smiles, deceives you, Opens a door through which you see dark dreams.
But this is momentary. . . or else, enduring, Leads you with devious eyes through mists and poisons To horrible chaos, or suicide, or crime. . . And all these others who at your conjuration Grow pale, feeling the skeleton touch of time, --
Or, laughing sadly, talk of things important, Or stare at mirrors, startled to see their faces, Or drown in the waveless vacuum of their days, -- Suddenly, as from sleep, awake, forgetting This nauseous dream; take up their accustomed ways,
Exhume the ghost of a joke, renew loud laughter, Forget the moles above their sweethearts' eyebrows, Lean to the music, rise, And dance once more in a rose-festooned illusion With kindness in their eyes. . .
They say (as we ourselves have said, remember) 'What wizardry this slow waltz works upon us! And how it brings to mind forgotten things! ' They say 'How strange it is that one such evening Can wake vague memories of so many springs! '
And so they go. . . In a thousand crowded places, They sit to smile and talk, or rise to ragtime, And, for their pleasures, agree or disagree. With secret symbols they play on secret passions. With cunning eyes they see
The innocent word that sets remembrance trembling, The dubious word that sets the scared heart beating. . . The pendulum on the wall Shakes down seconds. . . They laugh at time, dissembling; Or coil for a victim and do not talk at all.
The chilling tense room if atmosphere so dense Im feeling alarmed, shut of the suspense The cobwebs are common, my smile retracting They're heading for the hills, loud screaming
I'm living in a haunted house of memories Its dangerous, but light I almost see My hearts pounding and soaring The whisper call so scathing
The TV told me it was over, So our troops were coming home to read books and meet their babies. The TV said, "The guns are gone, the kids are safe, The girls and women, they're safe, too And no one's bleeding alone anymore. "
I pulled up to your house and you said I love you And we took a train to the mountains.
On top of every curve I heard you drawing plans on the window Of all the things we'd do And where should we go?
You're a vacuum at this point. You take in all the dirt, But more often than that You suck up your great grandmother's pearls. To tear at one loose seam in the carpet, And suddenly you're standing alone in a room full of yarn. Time is cold and unforgiving on the crinkles that Used to appear at the corners of your eyes when you smiled. Cold and unforgiving on beautiful hands that now claw at your skin waiting for its fix.
7am, off work 8am, first person on the liquor store line. Raise a bottle to my lips as I sit in the yard Sun growing throughout the sky, getting brighter, Everything is so light and warm. And I hate it. Make it go away. Half of my liquid confidence is gone now, and I still can't drift off. Time for the top of the fridge where the pill form of sleep is kept. Popped one. It doesn't work. Pop two and maybe it'll be alright. Drink the rest and finally I feel like the day can fade away into the back alleyways of my mind. So much like the ones I used to live in. This needs to stop. I feel like shit. I'm not even a ghost, I am a fucking skeleton of a human being. I am as dead as the graveyard I live across from. Take me back. Take me back home before I find a needle in my arm. I don't belong here.
In my dreams, I travel through time and space, To the land where I used to dwell In the house of my father, Trapped again in its dark and twisting halls. There is no other place where running will take me When he decides to set me ablaze And form a new child from the ashes, One who will call him sir and remember To love him more with every bruise. Upon waking, I check my skin To make sure that it still exists, But there's no way to measure How much this dream has taken From the places inside that I can't see. There are wells of gasoline inside my soul Convinced that the spark is what I deserve.
