Monday, June 15, 2015

Prelude to Consciousness

I am myself a fragment sifting dust
The end of nothing come to this
Eternal standing wave of purity,
A consciousness of vowels and sibilants.
It will soon be time to forget me
Although some early ideas stay aloft.
The special identity no longer applies
Beyond the expressway, where the houses
Return to the state of cabbages
And disappear, bathing, in ozone fields,
Your address when you are not here.

The bitter sunshine promises to cool
When oligarchs pack up their toys
And head for the exit.  In the interval
Small packages of joy await your mouth
If only you would call to say hello.
Is there no one to care about the thing
Whether it needed strength or alchemy
To breathe itself into a form of life?
The tribe today is a silent mass of tweets.
Give me your talking blue-green surfaces
Beveled by wind.  Am I still here?

Looking outside the boxes of the mind
Pure indifference returns
Pincered by the hands of the clock.
The sterility of night touches my mind.
I want only a fragment of your love
That I might live inside you (where else?)
Like a raindrop.  But my designs on you
Only postpone the time of our embrace,
In satin indolence, a paradise
On the embellished margins of your soul
If I can squeeze my spirit in this fruit.

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