I killed a man once
not in the usual ways--
poison, knife, gun.
instead I ate his heart
slowly.
My darkness devoured
each new piece he offered and
his goodness filled my
belly.
He gave until finally
there was nothing
left when I asked
for More.
"You are the call, and I am the answer. You are the wish, and I the fulfillment. You are the night, and I the day. What else? It is perfect enough. It is perfectly complete. You and I." D.H. Lawrence.
I went through an infatuation period with D.H. Lawerence at some point in my past life. His style rested just on the edge of forbidden with a brooding sexuality that made me believe. He wrote of "blood knowledge" and finding it better to "...die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions."
Sometimes I think I expect too much from my intimates. A soul perfection. Yet, if asked, I scoff at the notion of soulmateship.
If you read that fast enough, out loud, it sounds like "soulmate sh*t."
'Nuff said
More
All that was sacred and little bit that was wicked
Mixed with sunshine to fill the hollows of my heart.
A brimming chalice calling:
More. More. More.
Now pull me to your lips.
And, drink, oh Thirsty One, drink;
Swallow what you feel.
More. More. More.
Don't melt like cotton candy.
Really let me taste your soul.
And hold me. Breathe with me.
More. More. More.
Be large enough to keep me.
Be strong enough to tell me no.
But always give me:
More. More. More.
Be. Just BE.
More. More. More.
They slide down my throat like goldfish.
To swim in a pond of bright green bile
Until they swell up fat and toxic.
They mutate and divide like cancer cells.
And grow without a sound up through
My nose like branches of a sycamore tree.
Strange birds land on their twisted boughs
And pluck them one by one by one
Like eyebrows to line their silly nests.
Until the wind snatches them back and runs
On strong legs far as the east
Is from the west and beyond the blue moon.
While they scatter like the mustard seed
Bruising my faith and resting place
Until I am tempted to swallow again.
"Ad astra per aspera" means "rough road leads to the stars." A literal
translation is "to the stars through severe hardship."
I petitioned the angels
and pled for my soul,
while I waited at the altar
in the church of childhood.
Their faces mocked me.
Suffering children are
safe in nobody's arms.
I climbed the constellations,
but did not reach God's ear.
I fell short. I landed hard.
Now I leave absolution
in the midnight sky.
And place my feet
on solid ground.
Redemption draweth nigh.
Raise the windows.
Lift the sash.
Be ready. Be ready.
Keep oil in your lamps.
And wait inside the wind
on a bed of softest rain.
