another blasted headache that is or isn’t necessarily an
imbibed fault is it to be assigned blame to what or whom or this and that with
confused leverage sending mixed messages of greatness and shallow depths of
hurt resulting from hemispheric transfers to roller coasters of sensations high
low then level to all soon settled and usual an unusual reality welcome to hope
forthcoming
March 31, 2012
March 27, 2012
To Air for Human
I watch this world from my gutters edge. My view is the best of all. The humanity flows past me not even aware of my existence. Many of you are not even aware of each other, preferring to exist in silent ignorance of the men and women and children who share your space. You find anonymity in your ear phones and machines and newspapers and books. Silent wraiths moving among humanity off and on the platforms, waiting for transport to another existence far off from this place.
Do you talk with someone there? Do you love someone there?
I look up these tracks and watch your machines come in. Paired ribbons of rail crisscrossing around a long wide curve deliver you to this place and remove you again. They move on into the distance forever grounding the cars keeping them in their places from destination to destination. These paired ribbons never touch each other yet often do they cross each other, an intermingled coexistent sharing of moments of energy and time, joining humanity momentarily on shared journeys.
Do you feel these connections? Do you know others exist with you?
Yes I watch you all from my gutter. My shadow plays upon the sides of your train cars momentarily revealing me there, so often hidden from your view. The windows flashing by tell me stories. Movie set vignettes of the most very ordinary of extraordinary people grant me perspective, insights to moments of your life. Sadness and joy, truth and lies, love and disdain, sorrow and laughter, the elixir of conflicting stereotypes pushing past pulled by forces of necessity and unrequited commitment.
Today, two are in their places positioned across the chasm of twin tracks. They are face to face dutifully behind the yellow line drawn there to keep them safe from passing trains. In their faces is a sad quiet, an acquittal of love. Perhaps that of siblings, trust placed in each other. Perhaps that of friendships built originally on stoney ground and then tentatively, terrifyingly, finding fertile space. Perhaps that of lovers trying to navigate the all of difficult intimacy, in full sharing, placing their very souls in the cautious hands of another.
I may never know. I can see their stories flash by in the windows of the trains as they pass by, and I can only guess. Two lives lived equally in shared pain and shared happiness. Their silhouettes exist in the foreground as angels affront of their society. They look across the chasm and watch the unfolding world emoting momentary smiles, tiny tears, recognition, sorrow, comfort, and connection.
In their background is night sky, gentle breezes rustle leaves, angels shine, their wings a flutter in the wind. Moonlight touches and wanes wrestling with the expanse of land and sea. Phosphorous lives, luminous to touch, crave for the most they can afford in the short time their coil allows.
Musicians and poets and actors come to view providing a running pantomime, prodding for cracks in the friendships of the loved and finding holes, narrate tomes to celebrations of musical arrangements designed for the two to dance. They pirouette once, twice, thrice, a quadrangle of turns leaving them still and dizzy to each sight.
Children arrive, innocent and lost, they ground reality to the real world of innocent joy. Water and nature and toys and reading join child wonder to child wondrous. A wanderlust of discovery as their world comes into focus. Why why why why is asked again and again and again; and answers are patiently discovered in each other.
The hurt of association is felt again and again. An army of the lonely march past, faces long and longed, sad and saddened by possibilities and refusal. Twice and more burned, to be burned no more. A quiet resolve respected but unshaped forms in the band. They will live life alone, no connection will co-join the existence, and unhappy resolve falls into wail. A choice from uncertainty.
The hurt of bodies trying to heal, independent of dependent, fear of release, is delivered and relinquished only on request. Ask and you could receive, or be asked and you must refuse, a milk of kindness delivered with no intent but the desire to release this physical to a metaphysical plane.
The transport moves on. The non existent disconnected faces of humanity have left, leaving only these two. They turn to the direction of the pair of twin ribbons running away from the station and walking to the end of the platform, they step down between the tracks. Reaching out they walk silently hand in hand only aware their journey is still so new, so full of promise. They can walk their own tracks independently. They will dance when the tracks cross, revelers of their companionship. They will lament when the tracks part and celebrate when they align again. They will share stories of their lives, of the wonders they have seen and experienced and witnessed.
And they will lament the possibilities they could have been. Yet they will not dwell in that land. They will move on, forever for themselves, forever for each other. Who will you be to each other, I wonder. And I know. You will be who you need to be, true to yourself, true to your companion. For that is what you wish for each other.
The train leaves the station. I soar for these two. They alone may set the course for a new and wondrous world. They alone own themselves to each other.
Do you talk with someone there? Do you love someone there?
I look up these tracks and watch your machines come in. Paired ribbons of rail crisscrossing around a long wide curve deliver you to this place and remove you again. They move on into the distance forever grounding the cars keeping them in their places from destination to destination. These paired ribbons never touch each other yet often do they cross each other, an intermingled coexistent sharing of moments of energy and time, joining humanity momentarily on shared journeys.
Do you feel these connections? Do you know others exist with you?
Yes I watch you all from my gutter. My shadow plays upon the sides of your train cars momentarily revealing me there, so often hidden from your view. The windows flashing by tell me stories. Movie set vignettes of the most very ordinary of extraordinary people grant me perspective, insights to moments of your life. Sadness and joy, truth and lies, love and disdain, sorrow and laughter, the elixir of conflicting stereotypes pushing past pulled by forces of necessity and unrequited commitment.
Today, two are in their places positioned across the chasm of twin tracks. They are face to face dutifully behind the yellow line drawn there to keep them safe from passing trains. In their faces is a sad quiet, an acquittal of love. Perhaps that of siblings, trust placed in each other. Perhaps that of friendships built originally on stoney ground and then tentatively, terrifyingly, finding fertile space. Perhaps that of lovers trying to navigate the all of difficult intimacy, in full sharing, placing their very souls in the cautious hands of another.
I may never know. I can see their stories flash by in the windows of the trains as they pass by, and I can only guess. Two lives lived equally in shared pain and shared happiness. Their silhouettes exist in the foreground as angels affront of their society. They look across the chasm and watch the unfolding world emoting momentary smiles, tiny tears, recognition, sorrow, comfort, and connection.
In their background is night sky, gentle breezes rustle leaves, angels shine, their wings a flutter in the wind. Moonlight touches and wanes wrestling with the expanse of land and sea. Phosphorous lives, luminous to touch, crave for the most they can afford in the short time their coil allows.
Musicians and poets and actors come to view providing a running pantomime, prodding for cracks in the friendships of the loved and finding holes, narrate tomes to celebrations of musical arrangements designed for the two to dance. They pirouette once, twice, thrice, a quadrangle of turns leaving them still and dizzy to each sight.
Children arrive, innocent and lost, they ground reality to the real world of innocent joy. Water and nature and toys and reading join child wonder to child wondrous. A wanderlust of discovery as their world comes into focus. Why why why why is asked again and again and again; and answers are patiently discovered in each other.
The hurt of association is felt again and again. An army of the lonely march past, faces long and longed, sad and saddened by possibilities and refusal. Twice and more burned, to be burned no more. A quiet resolve respected but unshaped forms in the band. They will live life alone, no connection will co-join the existence, and unhappy resolve falls into wail. A choice from uncertainty.
The hurt of bodies trying to heal, independent of dependent, fear of release, is delivered and relinquished only on request. Ask and you could receive, or be asked and you must refuse, a milk of kindness delivered with no intent but the desire to release this physical to a metaphysical plane.
The transport moves on. The non existent disconnected faces of humanity have left, leaving only these two. They turn to the direction of the pair of twin ribbons running away from the station and walking to the end of the platform, they step down between the tracks. Reaching out they walk silently hand in hand only aware their journey is still so new, so full of promise. They can walk their own tracks independently. They will dance when the tracks cross, revelers of their companionship. They will lament when the tracks part and celebrate when they align again. They will share stories of their lives, of the wonders they have seen and experienced and witnessed.
And they will lament the possibilities they could have been. Yet they will not dwell in that land. They will move on, forever for themselves, forever for each other. Who will you be to each other, I wonder. And I know. You will be who you need to be, true to yourself, true to your companion. For that is what you wish for each other.
The train leaves the station. I soar for these two. They alone may set the course for a new and wondrous world. They alone own themselves to each other.
March 26, 2012
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