Monday, March 5, 2012

Monday memory



That plaintive cry, asphodel, that greeny flower, a hotel in Hartford, the seventh floor and when I opened the door, my hair wet the years began. We fell through woods and into a musty theater, the skinny boy in the chicken house screamed and I woke up in the bathtub of a motel, the water falling your arm smooth and hairless, a Cheshire cat smile, the open road, paper-thin letters, onanistic and back to the north, our bed a swaying single boat with oars that rested still

Standing by the well,
wishing for the rain,
Reaching to the clouds,
For nothing else remains.


Drifting in a daze when evening will be done
Try looking through a haze
At an empty house in the cold, cold sun


I will wait until it all goes round,
With you in sight the lost are found.

5 comments:

  1. You just knocked me out. And Richard Manuel singing that song threw me back into another world. Not the same one it took you to, but a powerful memory, nonetheless.

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  2. Beautiful. I never knew anything so interesting happened in Hartford! LOL

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