aayoungthere you are
right on cue
as if you personally orchestrated
my having been born
in September
the devil you know
swelling and morphing
through my dreams
your face changing
wearing various masks
such grand theatre
i weep
destroy my sheets
crying out in the night
reddest blood flowing
into marzipan rivers
oh my dear
how beautifully we suffer
this tether
my soul was lost
in an apple orchard
faded to ether
“This is all a parlor trick. You lovely statues are liars,” she whispers into cave vapors,
pressing her finger to the ear of the temple god made of earthly stone.
“Look at the lengths to which we humans will go in the act of assigning meaning to a world of happenstance.”
The deity has no response, nor would it ever, no matter what was said.
The sacred record player scratches vinyl to it’s death.
Lantern flames cease to dance.
She turns her back to the idol and the promise of a waiting heaven.
Her feet step to avoid the bones and rotting meat of sacrificial lambs who had come before her as she makes her way back to the entrance.
“We are nothing, we mean nothing, we are here for no good reason, and we are miraculous for it. The beauty and freedom of that is lost in all this fuss…this superstitious need for locusts, devils, and bloody rain.”
The deity maintains it’s silence.
She emerges into the light shouting, “Yeah, that’s what I thought you would say…”
if we are receptive to the mechanism
wisdom begins to define us
and the parameters we function within
as we age
i cannot deny
your existence is all together unlikely
a defiant day lily insisting upon rising above
the early spring snow
i’ve learned to pay no attention
as pablo’s smoke rises beneath my window
but there you are
orange crush inevitable
our eyes full of unwritten poems
the feel of your suit
a sensation insisting
there are things i should know