"There's not much doubt in any of our minds that no complete idea springs fully formed from our brow,
needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars.
The germ of the idea grows slowly..." - Walt Kelly

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Even in the dark

My eyes open slowly,
as the first ripples of life
in a fresh-cut tulip,
sucking up water like
it's been starved for days.
The world's been changed,
heaven brought to bear
upon those who never
knew better, those who
only trusted their instincts
and felt the heat of the Devil
waning in the throes of love.

The trenches are dug,
made dangerous at last
and spiked to spite some
caterwauling temptress,
so criminally beautiful,
alive on the open ocean.
She has called out to me
more than once, loud cries
I've instinctively filed away,
preserved in ancient amber
as fuel for a former romantic
when all other lights go out.

My new home is kept
in the highest greenery
of the old mountainside.
Perhaps here the savages
will be too tired to climb,
too downcast, commanded
by the nature of the new world
to stay hidden at twilight,
lest they fall victim to the
many new hungry impulses
of whatever happens to be
more desperate than they are.

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Staves, Winter Trees (simply gorgeous)

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