The Geranium Hotel Poems

Light is drawn over paper sky I've been on Ēōs' path before The way that burns the wings of distraction Soft arms of pine trees take hold of me The river flows steady through peaks Over mud and sand Cold it hides the weapons Of the remaining race The simple birds of all seasons Come and go as please Preening on rocks in grey light Waking with no surprise nor wonder Two forgotten horses Now wild with ragged manes Wander through the shadows of the trees Eyes bright and never sleepy Ēōs once again opens her gate And plants the daily rose I walk down her dewy path Thinking of the city I call home

The smoothness of an image Caught beneath so many Here, as the rain falls Beware these recollections Great sighs are proclaimed Loud and through the trees Where final leaves are falling Purple, serrated, full of sorrow And muscles are pulled Limbs they are arched Creases become catchments The skeleton becomes a wall Great Lakes are filled From the rain on the ground Great reflections are felt As they ripple away Water is everywhere Water it canters Like horses, wild and fast Useless we stand As the world throws us around We pretend we can rise Yet we simply spin from east to west We gain no foothold In the soil full of rotting leaves In the ground of this island So we look out beyond our ledge From the border to the sea And we think of an island Full of expression and song Full of each other

I'm not going to fall far By all means you are welcome to watch me land Hear my body break against the earth As though the planet itself is punishing me As though life has strung me along And today is the day in which I catch up with it I could discuss the death of a man Perhaps he is a banker? Perhaps he will shoot himself behind an inn? Perhaps I am just a child? This man lives and I am not Berryman I cannot talk of the anger of an other I cannot talk of escape or money or emotional bullying Only of lying in a small military room With a great man next to me One who is now married, successful, distant Although his smile is still sweet and uncomplicated Does he fear the future? Does he look at the past with a great reverence Is he and his memory my religion? Am I to be chasing this smile until we are on our death beds? Do I forever move into my future While smelling the perennial flowers of old lovers Do I count my blessings to have known such men? Do I th

The real madness is found At the point between concrete and glorious elevator I am the crowd pulling the hair Of the farmer, the rioting loner, the number one It is trying at times, it is bloody, and lonely I have to give up in the sky's light I, however, still open up for the limitless unknown I have to look at the million boys I have to ask the proper questions Wonder at the words and worlds and dreams and seams But there are no trains left There are no machines running Cocaine blues in the colour of the cloud High rise feline way in the movement of the day And I drive my car to the shore Over the flowers that we planted Over the gardens of our grandfathers But we have no remorse left Only blood that is charged with lust and loss and mining rights So the sand becomes our carpet And we discuss the Cimbrian War Why so many died with one word on their lips So many didn't think to use the guns at their hips The planes all run steady The crucifix is on t

I told you some things I would visit you in March The river swept me My thoughts too heavy to catch I found my exit I had my invitation Perhaps it was just deep down I really didn't want salvation And now you say you are leaving Hong Kong and then New York The river will be taking The man I could have caught Keep me in your thoughts When on a boat or in the sky I'll still be in the autumn jungle In the shadow of the pine