Doesn’t Every Journey ..?

Here

In these few, brief –

Too-brief

Hours of change,

While the wholesome moon

And the law gods

Look away,

Identity can be fluid.

Maybe then

Perceptions being cleansed

(Or altered at any rate)

We see the doors

We were never looking for …

And nobody is harmed!

After all

Doesn’t every journey

lead to the traveller?

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Moons

Sad:

A dozen

And more moons

Storm stranded

By jealous tides

“Do you know

Who I was?

Where I have been?

That I could summon,

So casual-easy, the

Thunders and mischiefs

You most desire?”

Daughter Mine.

Maybe –

She realised it so suddenly,

It actually caused physical pain –

She’d spent too damned-long

With her sleepless head

Inside a dark box of quiet,

Chocolate-bitter thunder

That echoed and repeated,

Stitching restless days together.

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Town’s End?

Riverboat gambler coated,

Thin collar fashionably raised,

The familiar windmill

Spins on blue suede pegs.

I wonder, now, why I never saw

The harsh self-doubt, the

Harshest of self mockery,

The dumb recognition of happenstance

In those flamenco matador poses.

Copper lady, right hand filled

With righteous liberty

As the terrible truth, vulnerability and blame

Crash down again; over

Iconic, decibel-lit harbourscape.

The way it actually is and the other way,

Held in memory, of how it was before.

So much to be proud of.

The air stands still,

The big voice calls on and on.

You? You think too much, preoccupied:

“Who will I be seeing this evening?”

I’m more intrigued by

Who I’m going to be.

 

28/6/2013