Friday, February 14, 2014

Perihelion

Perihelion

The definition of stasis is a bath of warm blue fluid
which raises and

sustains the usual wonderings.

The definition of love fell prey to the anesthetic death of language, love the stone in my
jugular

when I try to swallow past grief, love the blank-faced soldier wiped out along with
the following henchmen:

Good/evil. Light/dark. Freedom/captivity.

But a perihelion:

a perihelion is the moment I meet
my maker.

Perihelion is a ride in the
backseat.

I count emergency phone boxes and
fall asleep,

dream of Hale Bopp because

I was a small child born into astral years

with much to dream about and some things to wish for.

Perihelion is the living ghost in my chest:
it moves, dilates,

as if newly born and made aware of
some sun, some gravity- the brilliant cacaphony

of the stars, or the sweet
sadness of our wasted environment.

(Wasted as the very old are
wasted, dry and full of aches.)

The ghost (swells and) pulsates, swoops
like a fledgling hope

I call it aura because it sleeps but never dies
and bleeds colors

I think I'll kiss you in the exosphere

I think the moment might call for it.


I think of the dimension of desire,
of things meteoric and difficult to explain,

of what is sudden and not, and all at once



the best feeling
of all feelings
is relief

relief in the deep, warm amniotic
bath.

Relief beneath wide skies.










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