Brass / words / 2011 / Pounce

January 3, 2011

She has these

Starborne eyes.

And I

                Here.

 on her blackened

scarred

beach.

Face down.

Spit the sand out

my mouth.

What happened?

                Where is she now?

                                Standing over me.

 

                                With that smile.

And I wonder.

                                What it meant.

Don’t leave, Scorp.

                We need you.

I. Need. You.

II. Win this Holy Game.

 

Under your covers.

Left bare.

                The secret moment of your

                                Life’s scare.

                I see your pattern.

                                I know your fate.

Consider my corner.

                A left swing a right.

What a fight.

                                There are some flickers

I still remember

                When I told you about what my

life meant.

And watching your reaction.

                                So calm.

                                                Still.

                Matter of fact.

                                                But with that look.

                                A psychologist’s look.

                A psychotherapist’s look.

Among us here.                  Black tears.

                Not so many fears.

                                Flashes on the tile.

Indeed.

                                The grapes on that counter

Quite pristine.

 

                In your countenance.  You will seek.

                                Presence.

Something in your gathering waits.

                Prickle.

                                Don’t wait.

Do not

                Place the bearing of your

                                Essence.

                                                In this placid state.

In this next year.

                We will Stand.

                                Yes.

                                                The Twins will stand.

Finally.

                At ;ast///