I Sang A Song

I sang a song that awoke the gods
Then I saw you...
And again I was silent

Can't you provide me what I need? This shivering deluge of breaking weight, this parting silence that is a shameful load, a maturity that takes me into the wilting light, Terrible faith has me and I can not let go- I am  too stupid, too scared. When I try to be brave my eyes dart into the small places while my heart buzzes off reminding me of my malady. Sorrow has always told me I shall be first in her eyes, Sorrow is never one to lie.

I will find a corner within my guilt and embrace what words I have left to turn to golden poetry, to write short notes of masculine breath upon my shoulder, I will turn my time into a sword that breaks open the walking days.

I don't know if I want to be the crow that carries all shadow any more

My sleeves were rolled up and my skin it was smooth, I moved closer to you, your pants they were undone and I could see that a ghost had entered the room. For some reason a hole had appeared in the wall- this is where heaven resided. And who resided in heaven? That remained to be seen. I kissed your hair, it smelt like the hotel pillow on which you had laid with no sleep, I felt like a nurse. I felt like a mourner at a stranger's funeral.

Glancing out the window now, glancing with no hope of seeing art, or history, or even laughter I see a rosemary bush. I once wrote a great poem about hustler boys who wore sprigs of the rosemary herb in their pockets- they called them the Rosemary Boys. The rosemary was the weed of their city, yet it still had its uses and they, the boys, could relate.

Bravery gave me her locket, it was empty, but for Hope.

Glancing out the window now I take note of how much I have changed... I wonder if I have ever really hurt anyone, if I have ever made anyone happy, if I have ever sorted out beautiful words from ugly and then made them fuck one another until they bleed- for bright and promised jewels only to hand out nothing but a smirk. Bright jewels that are promised are merely stones and words are merely there to be manipulated.

There is a pathway, either side is lined with several large Oak-trees. I remember these as I was once drunk and stumbled. I sat there in the dark and with my back against a particularly large tree I cried because everything seemed to be buzzing with a beauty that I had never seen before. This time it is different. Now you and I are walking down this path through the darkness and you stop, you undo your fly and you piss against the smooth contrasting bark of the Oak. It is the very same tree.

Glancing out the window now I take note of how much I have changed...

Somewhere Bravery sits, thinking of me and waiting. This is a test. All I have is a stupid and manipulating word named Hope. But I don't mind, I stand here naked against the window pane, thinking of the Rosemary Boys and thinking of you, thinking of a shivering deluge that holds me to the guilt of never speaking up. Thinking of a simple song that I once sung but have now forgotten, my plan is simple, I shall merely write another, then another, then another... until all the gods are woken.