In The House In Your Head

The TVs in this place
can’t help me
They think they can
but they can’t
So I turn to the sorghum fields
remembering you
and knowing that you know
how this feels
with these TVs here
all around in the air
and stillness
You know how their glow
attempts to hold you
It held you many times alone
with your blue eyes
looking into it
past the space in the room
and the person sitting
with you there
by the silence
of the concrete walls
and wooden floor
The same silence
that remains

in the empty house in your
head

Jets In The Night

We were in jets last night.
Racing through the air.
Fighter jets.
Listening to the Vince Guaraldi song
You’re In Love Charlie Brown.
It was blaring loudly.
You were smiling very big.
In that way that makes your
upper lip part
and reveal your two front teeth.
You looked like you were
telling me something with your eyes.
“Come fuck me.”
Or, “I really do secretly love you
after all.”
It was a spell.
You couldn’t have said these things to me.
I was the omniscient mind.
The observer of the dream.
Why would you have said these things
to the omniscient mind?
There has to be a glitch
in the consciousness terminal.

What is your location?
What’s this about?
Are you the droidus mare?
Who brought us to this realm be-
tween
the living and the dead?

The Soul-Filled Marriage

They were supposed
     to marry
touch apples
in an orchard together
         look out
    upon
   a North Eastern sea
     the one
that brought so many
power-hungry heathens
to
this land

We were
   supposed
           to marry
touch apples
   in the Fall   together
      something
      hiding
in our hearts
where
    we lived in different
parts
of   the crusty Empire City
at contrasting and
overlapping points
                  in the future

We were supposed to
     eat
chips and salsa together
laugh at
     small things
look out
      on
green pastures
     and    blue skies
   torn   apart
by
the fingers of oak trees
       and      yea
fall down    from
        our egos
like the old ploughworker’s
   handiwork in the   field
to
feed
the souls and
           the soul-filled life
   we abandoned

Exogenesis Terrestrial

Without your eyes I’m lost like an Earth-bound religion.
They were eagles to fly across mountains.
Canopies for the stars.

They exalted my lungs
to wake me each day
from the dream between the dead and the living.

The Dead Land turns off the lights.
There is an echo of your name.
Then the dawn comes and shows me the blue stories of
your deeply precious brain.

I’ve worn blue for many days since your leaving.
You know, the blue like the solitude of night.
This is an honest and probably unintentional tribute,
the consequence of mourning.
Your oceanic eyes are gone – the planet’s great reference.

I assumed your neurons were the Universe.
I assumed them as infinitesimal light,
the simple place where the living and the dead don’t exist,
the Universe.
The sound of your low voice in my ears
before the sea crashes, your ancient tongue churns me into
almost everlasting sand

and I am found somehow again in this confined, terrestrial
body

with the things meant, unmeant and unspoken.

These simple passings of eons.