The Papers

/ / / / a little short story, a little tale about innocence... / / / / 

That girl you knew is dead. Read it in the papers the other day. Someone wrote her into a movie in the hills of California. And she's gone. 

She was sweet and delicate, and playing with the strings of new ideas & youth. Eagerness in her eyes so trusting, laid everything of herself against me while we laid. But I just made the warm honey summer cold. Wanted to strangle something of the naiveté out, like the juice that ran down the counter edge. 

Now I'm playing with piano keys in an empty hotel room lobby, and she's gone. Funny I'd see you here because I've been wanting to talk of someone near. Someone of 'the times my man, when we were the crowd being talked about. A time when I lied and said it meant everything. 

It meant so much more. It truly was the world she always talked about living in. It existed as she had built it in the air with fingertips and stories. 

Wonder where the soul is now, if I could get it back. Force it back to Earth for a jubilee. Wonder if it's new creation is something even greater. 

All the years are growing so very fast. All the mem-or-iesss...so wondrous.





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Chi Hotel

I laid in bed all evening, because it was the kind to do so. ----- One where tired, hot feet rest in cool, white sheets-- hair still smells of sand -- and your body, feels good. A lovers kind of night, when joy fills long silences…and both get so happily lost in the playing field of a bed. Lost, what a wide word. Lost, like I've been a time again. ------ Knowing the sun is setting from the reflections between heavy hotel curtains. Not daring to move and brake the trance of lonely trails of mild revelations and word-spells.

What is it about this city that feels this way? Something about the way nothing comes to mind for a response to all the great mess quietly forming around my head like a grimy, binding, fog. Something about the wide streets and wonderful sites, and grey - grey - shiny grey- all around. And the people -- so many of them. All the hours that I walked today. 

Want to fly home tomorrow just to move, want to fly back just to feel. Want everything all at once --- liked I used to say. But it's so much farther away than a townhouse down the road bursting broken with passion and cut ecstasy. 

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Force.

What's that about the midnight oil? Cause I've been burning it. Turning it. Destroying the remnants of a thing constructed once, in the raspy finish of talking -- between laughter hurls -- late into the night, over the distance of us. Forgot to stop, and disappeared into…what? Letters of words - of air - they're just nothing, but everything, of what distant lovers say to feel. To give all the pieces away in a release of finding someone so alike -- all so wonderful -- the making plans, sharing pasts, the whispering yourself away. 

And then in the air tonight -- strolling out of work last, -- like it came from my own self, summoned, there was that tiny breathe of autumn chill. How I loved it dearly already. And how far away the love so different -- of an idea --- was. Felt strong, felt lonely, felt so entirely like it was never there, and never was. Just as I've heard it was. 

Have I been hiding it well? Like the dark circles under the eyes, like the daily tolls -- like everything else, I've fermented into something entirely else. Something to be drunk down on so-humid weekend nights, on the porch with the bugs --- my new drink of choice, instead of any liquor at all. 

Travel the seas why don't you -- as far as they lead, and get lost. Lose everything of me in a great wide night on the ocean when everything swells with each swell -- into a great mass of storm and force. That's all the poetry I've 'have left for now. 

Can't wait for everything on the other side of all of this great pause, this+that great deadlines and swelter of heat, and plummet of.... Want to feel the rapture of a true force taking hold within again. Want to feel beyond the whispers. Want to ignite the fires, and dance within that pocket of air between --- like once, as a rumbling child, did. But so much greater, in such a captivating calm anew.




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