#{Boontdusties.com}

If life be the near death experience -

in the interim,
we sit on stools in a
waiting room
and leaf through the
magazines,
looking for the
slots inbetween.

The advertisements
like tarot cards,
revealing the soul
of the randomly
patterned planet -

dramatic, and yet more like
a stage;

a long yawn as the curtains
are drawn,
as if to say:
“life ends
with each long sun set.”

Moving into the
equinox equidistant
and an egocentric -
“why, who’s that

someone,
peeking out behind
the scene?

Am I to stay in this seat?
Sit and wonder
who sent her?

Is the design
intelligent enough
to have made
a line
drawn down
in the sand?

Everything
like sweat gland:
each land,
our bodies
ourselves –
temples,

and lovers
loving forlorn.

I stare into a screen and imagine her face.

I stare into a screen and see that lake.

We are equally distant
and hardly far away;
land limited by my latitude
which we share on a metric scale,
and though counting the hours on a
stopwatch
may fail,

it’s only in looking out to the mountains
that I can actually see
her there,
touching
the water here,

rubbing my perverted
self all over these leaves,
remembering rolling in the
bushes inflamed
in fear,
with the interstate
roaring
above us,

and, oh dear,
in life I must have
lusted late.
For it was my fate
to only first feel the dirt
beneath the leaves
as i kissed her neck -
and my faith will say that
that’s the way
it’s supposed
to be.

But maybe
i’m just nostalgic for
that heat
which
is

coming!

and came twice,
and kept on coming,
and loving, yes,
all of us are
burning bushes,

yet

to be set

on fire.

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 1st, 2005 at 7:14 pm and is filed under Open Discussion. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.