on your tongue
better get used to it
can’t wash it away
on your tongue
better get used to it
can’t wash it away
The best form
Is the one that
All on its own.
The coalescing Seattle twilight was an interplaying illusion of dusk and haze, warm colours replacing the pastel skylines, only to be painted over by the deep indigo eventide. The local rustic town café was already closing up, and they barely had time to finish the last bites of their chocolate bonbons and sip the remaining drops of their hazelnut vanilla frappé, before the intermittent barista ushered them out—quite literally, with a tremulous hand and an apologetic jilted demeanour. Now they stood outside the establishment in introspective reverie, dimmed bronze sodium streetlight the only solitary light source that resiliently pierced through the caliginous melancholy.
She was a blushing rose, liquid and pale, every infinitesimal detail somehow magnified to be remarkably interesting. Fragrance of baby’s breath and frankincense, posture of a regal and sophisticated monarch, delicate face as that of an angel’s glimpse of paradise, personality of an intricate vintage lock and a million exploding suns. Her companion, admittedly, was a person of less enigma, yet was still a character of significance, an oakwood branch, roughly-hewn and intense, simple yet charismatic. That svelte and cheeky-looking fellow had untidy coffee-tint hair, a discursive ironic smirk, an insouciant slouch, and a steely glint that, more often than not, signalled trouble.
As the fog and the regent shadows further intensified, the pauses and discomfited silence between them further attenuated. Moments passed. Her candyfloss-pink sundress fluttered like a jaded butterfly as she tucked a frayed bookmark behind her seashell ear, and her taciturn companion watched her intently, like an engrossed pawnbroker. Without permission, he began to remove his worn tan overcoat and gingerly placed the article over her cool shoulders, still warm and cosy by his own body heat. Flustered by the uncalled attention, she turned away to brush a stray raven hair back into her gossamer tufted bun, and lost grip of her book of poems, fragile pages yellowed and dogeared with age. Sylvia Plath’s ancient anthology dropped with a soft thump right side up, opening uncannily on the centre page containing Mad Girl’s Love Song, and both bent down and fumbled clumsily to pick it up in haste.
Fingers tangled. Glances exchanged. Blue eyes collided with green. Hands clenched. Throats choked. Hearts skipped. Breaths hitched. Souls shattered. Their blueberry-strawberry swirl ice cream melted absently like calligraphy on the pavement. The book now lay abandoned and forgotten, its unspoken poetry dancing alongside the breeze. No words were whispered. None were necessary. Overhead, the last of the brimstone shades faded away, and incandescent stars splashed the darkness of the falling sky. Below, firework eyes showered sparks, and skins intertwined. Witnessing it all, hiding behind the wisps of pewter clouds and overlooking the nocturnal planet, the glowing moon quaintly smiled.
I thought it will
save us all.
a million dollar
for a museum
on the moon
on the mountain.
is too dumb
to avoid despair
been nursing that
cup of coffee
for ten hours
hoping to reduce
on their lips
and red and gold
sings with orbit
i thought it
will save me.
so where did
Take a chance, take your shoes off
Dance in the rain
Yeah, we’re splashing around
And the news spread all over town…
Liquid dreams trickling on vinyl phone booths
Scarlet like cherry on our velvet sundae cone
Gauze of satin clouds swathed soft to soothe
A tepid peppermint tea that tastes like home
A demure pondering etched on a palimpsest
Calliope tintinnabulation of wind chimes sing
The Susquehanna river cascading chary west
Redolence of expensive pink perfume wafting
The vespertine serene, raven welkin starrified
Our pastiche of paradise, the cosmos taciturn
As I walk to descend the orbit, by the riparian tide
My bunbury maiden bides, anticipating my return.
You remind me of a few of my famous friends
Well that all depends on what you qualify as friends…
“The nitrogen in our DNA. The calcium in our teeth. The iron in our blood. The carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of star stuff.” ~Carl Sagan
Shooting stars watch me fall apart
And clothe me in the great yellow sun
Dance on a boulevard of broken hearts
Sparkling shards of my regretted fun
Dashing comets spun around the clock
Chasing off Time’s ceaseless wails
Asteroids in collision course with rocks
Running after their own scorching tails
Lace my DNA with the nebula’s love
Genes of intoxicating nitroglycerine
My fingertips sends their best regards
To the Northern Lights waving between
Negative particles nibbling at the dark
Hungry midnight devouring the light
But worry not for there’s always a spark
That gives it a stomachache and fights
The universe grows in a mad blaze of glory
Won’t you hear out my quaint sacrifice?
Bored galaxies don’t care much for my story
Humans are but creatures of early demise
For what are we compared to their stellar gears
But some wispy aches and sinews of skin?
Astral plains have shed marvellous tears
Yet we’re but without fates floating within
But just as stars will collapse and embrace
And our old ivory bones will creak and rust
Like everything in this infinite soul of space
We all must revert to stardust.
A heavy heart on the boulevard tonight…
Shooting stars watch me fall apart tonight…
A MILLION LIGHT YEARS…
Keep on fighting hard, little yellow star
The haunt of the darkness ain’t all there is to fear
The journey is slow, Earth’s atmosphere is still far
But ahead of you, you still have a million light years.
THE PATH TO HOME
An unkindness of the night, you seek your home
Your eyes are devoid and your pallid heart is torn
But seek not the angry shadows that shall bother you so
But instead set your soul’s compass on the oncoming morn.
The Aurora is up there, welcoming and beckoning
Whilst my sore feet are still stuck on this dusty dirt road
But maybe if I reach on further and just keep on jumping
Gravity will get tired of me and finally let me go.
There’s an indescribable method to your madness
If you seek the maelstrom black holes of the oncoming blue
But if you manage to swim out of the dimension of sadness
There’s an entire chromatic universe out there, patiently waiting for you.
…AND A LAST GLIMMER OF HOPE.
Little yellow star, scintillating bright on through
Past the arid fog, dimming clouds, and the hazy smoke
Lonesome in the midnight heaven, winking back true
Allowing me to still perceive that shiny bit of hope.
…I’ve got my heavy heart to hold me down
Once it falls apart, my head’s in the clouds
So I’m taking every chance I got
Like the man I know I’m not…