Tale as old as

It snowed today - beautiful chaos - and I missed you, just like every day of this bleak winter. Missed that sigh you make after a long fable-story you're always spillin over to tell. Miss the smell of you and that gaze, that treasures all the wildness in the world, in me. Listened not, to a single syllable spoken to my ears, I only listened to the wind. The wind now shrieking into the icy midnight - how I envy it. The hushed longing inside where it's safe - it only settled quietly into murky pools of eyes - and slowly follows all along in understood strange companionship. Think the strength of it though, could reach those miles to the California coast and sing, sing, sing all hollow - between those mountains that go climbing altitude to new ideas. Can you hear it? While you smoke that cigar and ease back…with a squeak, into an old rusted plastic-seated chair in your little yard - where the wolves don't roam but you hear them far off - and into that moon, so big and warm, changing everything, you watch…Listening to the wild desert night, and realize you hear upon the ocean breeze….suddenly whispering, with a chill - "come back to me"…come back to me…come back to her… 

/// >

Twist fate if I could and return to her. That last night, that last night, oh darling that night - if only we'd known then what must be said, what would end - through your storied window still I would've climbed. Felt like climbing all the world heroically, racing down that highway yet again with a borrowed, stolen car - felt like laughing at luck - all just to know such sweet kisses she saves for me, sweet skin and moves…same sweet eyes she had years ago and now, looking up at me were cherishing inside the flickers of light, like magic in my veins. I could lose, or find, everything there. I could have, have had  -like joyous capture- all of her and still… Still I hear her on the wind. Why's it follow me so far away? Thought here, great here that is, finally I'd outrun it - know she's gone from me for leavin', for leavin'… -I left her kissin me goodbye in that old satin robe, holding back the door we'd open and closed 'few times over already. Over, was ticking on the neon clock and it was an hour past my time for really leaving, for the long drive, -for join over everything, all wear towns and thoughts, -back to the coast of dreams. Back in the coast of dreams. Still I hear her callin' me, and I think of home…

...

Books Collected.

Where have we gone? Like one of those beautifully illustrated old books collected --- I just picked it back up yesterday. In the cold autumn twilight, with the candles burning and the folk songs crackling through old speakers, it just fell into my hands, my heart again… And was it ever gone? 

If I knew what we were then, and where to go, I'd travel the miles to your doorstep once again -- swear it  -- but I think you moved. I think we moved the mineral cliffs of fate in a way that wasn't natural. With my books of ethics I could run far away too, as before --- speak in other languages and jump across the sea -- but I'd be telling lies in a different way. The great big lie, for so long, that I can hear you saying to the wind as well; "will it ever go?". 

So with this old book, let's let the mind fall down into the pages of a better, romanced, story -- just tonight remember--- one where "crossed" was all we were in fault…Where we had everything, and then it was gone so beautifully. So beautifully understood...When the leaves rustle all at once on my walks -- and he's running late coming home -- it reads like how I feel about you, and how we were young together in the night… 

I've been mine, and yours, for so long that there must be another way. 

. . .

Red Wine

Think my veins are made of something like boiled red wine of late,  - like that blood red moon eclipsing everything beyond the stars. Rememberin' the night in California we heard the wolves howling up at it across the dessert fields, and a bad shiver went up through me then that's hardly faded since…

Outside there's people shouting into the churned-about wind, and as it is around here - can't tell if it's out of drunken joy or haunting fear. Can't tell the shrieks from one another anymore - they just get lost in the cars and the echoes and the buzzzzzing of that motel neon sign. 

We just forget anything was said.

Guess I'll go to bed with my demons tonight - they seemed to be what's summoned up. Pit-feeling threatening - swinging that ole eerie pendulum between the kind of road-wearied glad-to-have-had-it pain you meet like a friend - and the monster kind of sickened turns. Hating broken bones for the mistakes they've known, the wrong doors they've walked me across. 

But maybe all this is really the ending of my haunting. Now that the ghosts are out & about to play with every lonely soul that gets caught out past twilight - now that other companions can be found for them. 

Now is when I feel a sense of being myself - this season every time, and these days&nights of recent late after so very long... When everything is cloaked in shadows - it evens out. 

Lurk around corners no more, why don't you move on too old spirit? Give up on what you already abandoned, the house has fallen crack-on-crack inside itself… It's October when such things seem so very beautiful and eternally perfectly placed…but it's just a witchy trick. The snow, then spring, wipes it clean -- then it only seems barren too. It won't make the year end - this "you and I" is dead. 

There's such greater things ahead! Such sweet things that go down like amber whiskey... everything that feels like change and winter.



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