Thursday, December 25, 2008

The Idea Of Safe Places

White is the new blue. Gone are the lost rat's tears. While being here with you is the night song embodied.

Sliver of old fairgrounds on you and me both. Cast iron wedding plans heard hissing with grist. Or not or else or what.

Be patient, precise, literal, in a letter, or email, to whom. You and me sort of reluctantly out. Oh hell, just call 'em love poems and get on with it!

Turtle girl you crack a bit of smile and boom my crusty heart goes bang. The writer wrote she'd had it up to here with winter and beyond. Blustering consumers, rotten with coins, you're about to be bitten by a crow.

It's this poem, not the next one, that contains the all-important fox in the far field. Declare your intentions or prepare to meet your doom! Halberds, really, who can take them seriously?

The muddled heart leaps like a gazelle over thirteen years into all over again. Same old town, yeah, but now with you in it! What else but wisdom amidst all this useless longing?

Your heart is, was always, the idea of safe places. Years later, glad tidings, you glow to me so dearly.

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