Planes & Premieres & Evermore*

I've been seeing a lot of the top sides of the clouds lately. Watching those forces build - into stretched formations.

Watching them rip apart, by the plane's assurance and roar. 

Watching the majesty of a view I shouldn't be seeing really. 

Pushing down the fear that we're plummeting.

It's just a quiet plane filled with travelers less lonely than I've always been.

So I think of all the other moods and memories I've had while flying this back and forth - of everyone I'm always leaving.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sometimes you run zig-zag and up&down a house FILLED, for absolutely no reason but to feel a third rush. To see more of the thousand interactions all happening at once. Cause it just can't be this great. 

It really is this great. 

When we all - dance with every partner specifically, yell to every song, jump for every shot (slap the bag), yearn for every eloquent toast, beg for every kiss, ache for every desire gone astray in someone else's glance…..and quite literally tear into each other till it bleeds down the back….because we want, & want, & want. 

There's still, astonishingly, more love to give. More to make. 

It's a feeling - nearly a garb - so very special….like those long-gone first glances you think you remember right (when you were falling). It feels like, if you could - you'd dip in and embrace every friend you see in that room, every hair of carpet, every song, and incense and crooked frame, and views from the leafed windows - - all in one great scoop. And giggle. 
It'd taste so good. 

And if you could you'd make it last forever this time. 

It used to feel like it would be forever. 

It used to be all of this, just like this.

Then the hours pass, the couples decide, and the groups begin to disappear….

And I've found myself - listening to the hoarse voices that for the past year have only been together in fabled nightmares of my pleasure. I listen to the beauty of who they are, and how they hurt, and relate, and how we all felt something at the same time, a time ago. 

And that's just it. 

Resting my head on the kindest familiar shoulder, while nature(!) is heard through the outside, and cigarette smoke catches the heat and expands desperation….I think that we all decided once, at different seconds, that this was home. 

I've been trying to feel the same about anything else, ever since.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Then it's just past. 

It's watching beauty, then it's gone. It's us and then…

Then I'm listening to the door softly closed behind, thinking I already missed it all. Already missed waking up to the still-close night of dear old friends - its too soon come and gone. 

The weekend come and gone. 

Another set of portraits, another Happiest Night in my sweet - our sweet - Neverland……another goodbye for now. 

Another plane ticket. 

I never wanna grow up. 

My love letter now has come and gone. I'll love you all still evermore. 

To me, you've  been enchanting 
in the rise - just as you've been in the tragic fall I'm always too often in. 

Daily headphones: Nightmare&the Cat's "Dessert Heir", Billy Joel's "Oh What a Night" and KeSha's "Blow"

Laugh with Me

Lately I've been laughing like I used to....

'like before I forgot a little bit of everything,

Before I thought I nose dove down.
Before it all came with an ache. 

Understand how that feels, that I mean? - It's laughing at a sweet 'western man's humble jokes -

without narration.

Hmm, guess that's^ the best way I can explain it. 

Best way that I can say things are beginning to change all around. 

And it might be good. 

It might (eventually) be really, really good. 

And it doesn't matter how many sandwiches I throw in the blender, it's still a great mess.

It's a heaping mess I'd rather play in - 

pile up into a heap

of beautiful warm and darkened leaves -  

and leap into - in my tiny Victorian boots and green peacoat 

as a little girl - 

I'd rather have so much more. 

....That^ matters. 

It matters that we're OK.

It matters that a great creation has been made.
A great time has met its reunion.

A great movement has met its downhill. 

And great things I've already lived. 

We don't get many days, so few chances to.... - and me, (sigh) well I get just a portion of good days/months at a time. 

So laugh with me. 

Spend a night with me, staring at the city lights at the top of a parking garage.

Skinny dip, fool around in the woods, drive for hours, strum the guitar you don't know how to play, take the drink offered, wade into the lake, go for ice cream on a hot sunday, dance with a stranger to the live sounds, sit on the porch and stare at the stars, actually call people, sink into the sand, on the beach........try it all again. 

Pretend you're sitting on the old porch step on the farm. 

Watch the storm and mock the rain pounding down from the purple clouds. 

It'll be snow soon. 

It'll be alright soon. 

And I could use the company.

Said the Old Ballerina

They were all so much more enchanting. 

When they stood up there, giving away every single falsity made for washing, they really were something. 

It really was a magnificent show. 

...I whisper in the eerie, tingling, space and silence. 

An empty theatre devoid suddenly of its sparkling stars, still with all the red-cushioned chairs I adored a lifetime ago...

For a moment I sweep a perfectly broken-into-a-permanent arch foot+toes around in half-circle - then up on the ball, arms flow around and up and I.... dance again on the empty stage. 

Wonderfully trained, tortured beauty of movements. Years. 

The movements made, acclaimed, when I was captivating.

Ends with a smile and sigh. Feeble knees. Empty marquee.

Sometimes, you choose something else so many times. Too many times. 

And it's gone. 

Sometimes they borrow away all the things about yourself. The parts you loved. 

And it becomes a part of their newest character.

Unwriting the words you ached for first. 

So you fade-
at the ribbons,
at the fingertips, at the curly tendrils ends,
- even further from any recollection. 

And you're forgotten.