Walking Home (In Real Time)

Tonight someone told me something I already knew
Which is good because it tells me that I'm right
And that's important because I think he has something to share
With someone
But he may not know what it is.
I'm walking in the street as I write this;
Now standing dead stopped
Between the crosswalks
1:35 a.m.
Not a romantic time but I'm feeling it
And my shadow looks sexy
All essence of hair and billow of skirt
As a fresh summer begins her affair with my soul
As she flirts between the leaves and my thighs.
I am destined to build a shrine to a hundred gods at once
And swear that it's the only true path,
And I am bound to burn false idols where they lay.
Up in the elevator now
And I wonder who is tending
The few fires still burning in scattered windows.
How many of them are waiting for someone
How many are waiting for anyone
And how very long it seems I must wait
Before finding my truths.

(June 3/05 really...)

Premonition

I am afraid
That anything I say
Will only make you run away
Faster
Because I see you leaving

Pssst...Links of Note

If you're surfing for ways to assuage the February blues, git yer cyber-self over to www.local514.thruhere.net for some tunes you ought to hear and some toasty throwbacks to warm you right down to your cockles. It's a fab new podcast including a short reading by yours truly *blush*. Expect these sound waves to crash your party at least twice a month (sans moi), and definitely check back there this weekend for the release of a Mash-Up special. WTG to my buddy Elliot Pure for finally putting his music collection to good use.

You can also check out Mr. Pure's blog here.

Another gr8 site is rhyme&reason. It's an arts page currently featuring an interesting array of music, and a few postings. This site is in progress, so keep checking, and harrass the webmaster to keep on task. Expect to find art, photos, prose and editorials there in the near future.

Well, thought you may like a few extra ways to spend these last days of hibernation. Happy surfing, and don't forget: we're in this together, so tell a friend.

Dawn @--}-----

Lost lunch

I'm thinking
That if this
Food court sushi poisoning feeling
In the pit of my stomach
Is true love
Then I'd better stick to the facts
Of diluted delusions
Gone before breakfast
What-was-his-name by dinner
Romance.
It's best I skirt the fringes
Of martini dreams
And not reconstruct the pieces I lost
Or forgot I had.
I ought to keep up a resistance
A safe distance
Even as I am delving
Into this
Deja voodoo
Daydream
Losing my mind
And my way
Repeatedly
To the unalterable rhythms of being me;
But I find myself crumbling
Always on the same
Warm
Nearly home doorstep
Comforted
But filled
With the foreshadowing of broken hearts.
Still
If there is more
To this whole
To be had
Than the sum of these parts
Jagged and sad
Casting desperate disco rainbows
Across these empty rooms
I will throw
The caution of my casual flirtation with cynicism
Into the mesmerizing flames
Of this sun baked flashback moon dance.
I will risk life
And ever precious whim
To see this
Endorphin induced
Primal instinct dream through
Until we agree
That it is morning.

Never Enough

I find myself waking up
In these new places
With familiar faces
Unfinished missions
And a pile of new business.
I am carrying my well worn promise to protest
Made for TV memories
And dogs and yards and minivans
Until they are worth it
Unless they are perfect;
Only if the pret-a-porter fantasy
Fits me like a second skin
Will I ever let myself give in.
I vowed to rebel
Eternally
Internally
Against these infernal things
They'd have us believe
Are the be all
And end all
The quintessential
Of it all.
I dared myself
Prepared myself
Swore into my own eyes even though it scared myself
That I would never crumble into complacency
Mediocrity
The simple homogeny
Of the every day.
Even if I have to go it alone
I will not find myself buying the gift wrapped mall dream
Not on sale or with my frequent layaway flyer points.
I have no need to hang pictures
Frozen frames of quickly fading states of mind
Just to hammer the nail
And admire the job.
I will only need to pin these moments
If my miracles
Give me wings and make me hear bells
And I will only name
My Prince
As King
When all the firey hoops have been put out and down
And all the egoists, jesters and illusionists
Have been sent home
No fanfare
And certainly no tears
To write their own happy endings
While I soar into my future.

Ode To A Travelling Friend

Ode to a travelling friend
Leaving again
To chase more as yet unseen horizons
And feel the world through your hair.
My brave, beautiful explorer,
Always the you
I wanted
My self
To be:
Befriender of strangers
Drinker of teas
Intercontinental breaker of hearts.
Sweet seeker that only time can stop,
May life never scrub the paint from your artist fantasies
As you hop across oceans
Like salty puddles along your ever changing
Catch me if you can
Path.
The museums in countless cities
Ancient and revered
Will primp
And preen
And trot out their finest fare
To be devoured by
Your appreciative
Soulful eyes,
And I,
My dear,
My lovely old gypsy soul,
Will put on a kettle
And settle
Into winter
Awaiting your triumphant return
With the world in your pocket
Absorbed
Reinvented
Filtered for viewing
Through the lens of your heart.
And you
Will tell me
Picture book fairy tales
Over cups of brewed souvenirs
In the comfort of home
While you show me your new scars
And laugh.
And I
Will promise
To fly with you
One day
Soon
Instead of merely tagging
My spirit along.

Toast

I had a few drinks in your honour last night.
As time spilled on
I forgot if I was wishing you the best of luck,
Or bidding you good riddance,
But it was most certainly you.

Oct. 21-05

HERE & NOW

What if I do know who you are?
And I do recognize your eternal eyes
Across eons of skies
Despite rains and ages
Golden memories and countless costume changes
What if I do know who you've been?
What you've seen
Tasted your essence
Does that matter now?
In this room
At this time
Frame of mind
This time round do you care
How we have danced and cried
Laughed and died
In each other's arms and eyes
Dozens of times around before
Or are you tired of seeing me in all these different lights
And endless nights
Can you escape me in your dreams?
You follow me to bed
And there you are all starlight and fantasy
And unafraid of the things
We create
When we are one
And I wake up drunk on hopes and delusions
With gems of forgotten words on my lips
Breathing you in from a distance
Filled with reminiscence
And fond wishes
Carefree touches are delicious
I feel your thoughts near me
Here by me
Inside me
Dreaming me into existence

Firestarter

Beat beat
Sunny rhythms
Climbing through my veins
And I want to start a fire
Birth a revolution.
We’ll name our new rituals
Christen them with the fertile soil
As we sit fireside, hypnotized;
And our souls must dance before our bodies can move
But in our eternity we’ve always known that.
Fire and ashes may seem humble offerings,
But the fates are on our side
And the Gods are touched by our sincerity,
And though we’re chasers of smoke and mirrors
At our core we are all drops seeking the ocean.
And now we have the festival of tonight
And the moon’s blessing
As the music calls us home
To a place these masks have never seen
And there we will beautifully burn until pure morning.

Death By Chocolate

I'm drinking the coffee of my dreams
In a room forged by the optimistic hopes of my youth
And the relative ignorance of my early adulthood.
Despite the dark that presses in
And my own inner storms that threaten electrical fire
The walls here explode with the colours that flowers had before they had names.
The people here appear to have never lost that lust that makes every midnight a fairy tale
And fills every flickering candle with a burnt out spirit breaking free.
Despite the crowd,
And the valiant armour of daydreams and whispered fantasies,
Not all questions can find their answers
And I wonder:
If we could touch the things we see through telescopes
If we would still feel their mystic pull
Or if they would fall in amongst our old toys,
Once loved and now forgotten.
Ignoring the arrogance of my Cynic,
My Realist takes the reins and calls 'em as she really sees 'em,
(Like a fresh breeze through the catacombs of my spirit)
And the truth is I want cake.
And I want to eat it too.
Not a couple of polite guilty bites,
But rather an empowered and decadent display,
Soulful tribute to sugary pastries...
But I get the impression it's all death by chocolate
And as sweet as that smells,
It still sounds like drowning to me.