Checkbooks & the Lonely Land of the Dead

i get so incredibly lost in the world

sometimes

 

it's just so damn hard to look at

strait-on

that I don't enter it

very often

 

i just spend a lot of time

swirling it around

my head, like a snowball inside my thoughts

 

physically, trying to remove it

from my conscience

so that

all the poison inside of me

can drain out

 

and sometimes, everything just pours out

from loneliness

 

not from isolation, mind you

but from living among the myriad

of dead

 

because I live in the city of London

but have no commonality

with the dead

 

so it becomes a lonely place for me

 

and the loneliness, only goes away

when I'm alone

 

breathing free,

in some sunken corner of Nature

 

where there are no voids,

no complacencies,

no people

 

where everything has a place, a voice

a function

 

where the hollow drum

of the soul,

fills with vibration and life again

 

because joy is connection

with the earth

 

and a sandy shore

is the greatest and best friend,

to my bare feet

 

and I promise never to wear shoes

so long

as we are in love

 

only the trees and the bees

and a few women

will see my bare nakedness

 

and I will have nothing else to care about

 

because we both know,

that beauty doesn't need a fashion magazine

to dress the sky

 

and she doesn't care about the label - stitched inside

your panties

when you drop your skirt

 

because in that moment - among the snakes

and grasshoppers

we are one

 

So tonight - we whistle naked between the sheets

to the sound of barred owls

beneath the stars

making love - to the nocturnal orchestra of river frogs

that sing to an early June moon

 

but come Monday morning - we will go back

to the lonely land of the dead

 

Back to the land - of numbers and checkbooks

and crowded tube trains

 

~/~



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q.v.'s picture

This begins as a fairly good

This begins as a fairly good poem, but from the line "everything has a place, a voice," it becomes more than fairly good, it evolves into greatness right before the reader's eyes.


q.v.

Spinoza-Hinoza's picture

That's a fine glowing comment

That's a fine glowing comment you made, and is highly appreciated.