1994 The Day Never Ends The day never ends with its perk loving embrace, its amnesic slide and its thud back to base, it never ends. Sunrise. Man sits, sniffs the air, clear cool, a distant dawn, unmingled, unfixed. Slowly man takes steps beyond the leaf layered shelter, into loss, bewildered in the light. He stumbles, praying out for vines to guide or lead him, to a point, of clarity, of vision. But nothing solid, more a sound of running water, dips and dances vague direction in the air, and following the lessening of the swell, ‘til faint spring leaks a tiny resonance in open space, may hold a head above the mist, just to see that’s all. But at the height, dismay to find, that all the journey brings, is weariness and a drop to drink, or so it seems, to man, as into sleep he tumbles. A shadow still despite the blinding light. Through heavy eyes man wakes, and dry his mouth, a bitter mask on only half remembered peace, drinks deeply, burning out the possibility with nauseous valour. A need arises, in alarm, a wild attack of swinging arms and groping hands to contact, by switch, a soul. Calmed by disembodied voice man nurtures love defiant. Distrust in every morning, seems wise, says man, but only to himself. Laugh, in scattered patches sweet, and silent into sleep. Warmth, in spite of wind and rain this morning, renewed it seems though shaken, maybe just the cold from hours inanimation, a night, diminished now by spring, to drink and bathe, pleasure free. Discarding dream, a blanket to the ground, man stands, and easy moves, descending home, asylum. Presence sings and sits aside him as he eats. Man knows but does not show, his guard ensured, but notes the gentle nature, falters at the quiet smile, and meaning to return the peace, drifts back into the void, clutching at intention, forgets, and sleeps instead. Bitterness prevails replenished, in waking disenchanted. Regret upheld a moment more, but only that. Man curse and curse man, himself to blame. Impersonality found they walk together, and drowning in the throbbing waves of voices hung, detached in space, are lost amidst the maelstrom, playing Oates, to ease the pain. It’s easy, really; no intent, to not expect, leaves desire without account or pity. Awhile at least. Man sleeps. Man stirs and lifts awake to hazy light, and presence lying by him. The sense is strong, a figure formed in empty air, sleeping, sure. Enough at least, to reach to man, and be there unafraid. A sweetness this dawn, gathered wood and water’s edge, are happy; to forget the dream, its bruises yellowed, an evening light that soothes through man, away in gentle lines. Away. To distant voices comes man, and friendly, speaking to him. Dropping part instilled defence, man speaks, rising hope with body on this special seeming morning, man speaks, in answer to these calls. Man waits, a dialogue begun, then ended. Man voiceless screaming, forgotten how to speak. Man sighs, lonely in the crowd. A breath in dark, is chill tonight, small comfort found in cotton friend, but moreso found in shadow. A day gone by too late. A glimpse, is all, of presence now, finds man, on waking to the space, a distance, cold but yawning, drifting not yet gone. Man curses dreams that leave him, helpless, whimpered to the bone. Resolve, intent to win, is strong. Man sleeps, prepared, to wait in stealth, for dream. Cold. Man listens, straining for a query. Nil. A last embrace, necrotic sorrow, that involuntarily kicks the toxic bottle down, and bids farewell, for now, at least. Drift. Languid boat, no haste. Man rest for now. A journey already begun to carry him, someway toward, the sunrise. Presence. Man smiles, soft. Asleep.
Posted on: Tue, 29 Oct 2013 17:28:59 +0000
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