Patrimony (Sun-Cycle in Review) 20.12.013

Bathed in a red light,
I am sitting on the bathroom floor
in a house that used to be your home.
I wear your ring on a fine chain around my neck.

On my finger, I wear another ring
to remind me to find my own home.

They think I am married.

Sitting on the bathroom floor
in what used to be our home,
I wear the ring you designed on a chain around my neck.
The old Pueblo man gave me the ring on my finger,

and I wear it to remind myself
that I must leave this place, and return home.

You are not yet re-married.

In one of the many houses I used to call home,
I partake as she used to: your love for her
on a fine chain around my neck: my love for the past
and hopes for the future encircling my finger

like a wedding band (from a dead Pueblo man),
while thoughts of a home abated still linger.

She is no longer married.

A year ago (tomorrow, tomorrow), the end of the world began.
I was laid bare (by my own hand), and we spent the Last Night together.
When the New Year began, so too did We-- and there was talk
of rings on fingers.  I was making my way to a home in the future;

and yet: here I sit, chain around my neck,
on cold tiles: some poor soul's former home.

I think I have arrived; I think I am married.

(You have never seen me in my red light.)

7.12.013 Ten-Year Tears, Particle Beauty

My skin is liquid.
I am part of the firmaments.
Solid matter vibrates, on
a subatomic level.
Levelheadedness
is a sin. Dance dance dance
dance dance. Patterns.

I feel like, every moment, I am at my own wedding.
To wed; verb; I am wedding.
I am wedding everything,
there is no longer Me, there is no longer
capitalization,
everything is equal and with punctuation,
to express waiting--

and i am at my wedding.
i am at my wedding.

15.11.013 "Ode to Ghosting"

Your secrets
are my treasures, my trinkets,
but I fear they may be my playthings:

toys to a toddler, who wants
what he wants simply
because it belongs to the Other Tot;

I fear I am the Only One--
and
I fear you are a figment.

I fear you are all I cannot have,
I fear
you are me, and

I fear I am the Only One.

All I seek is connection,
meaningful commiseration
and mutual elation,

and laughter unto the wee hours of the night.
All I want is your hand:
lined with years gone by;

skin like parchment,
fingers muscled finely, and
lover-ly words spoken

with a soft-and-reverent portent.
All I want is for you to be real
(I think I made you up),

and for you to flip a switch
(inside my head):
electric currents flowing philandrically,

tendril-ectric filaments unfurling--
making short (and non-existent)
the chilly distance between two holographic

human

(heavenly)

bodies.

All I want:
please, be my companion.
Walk with me through the Fire,

keep me tethered to the present;
let me be no God-ball, no
lens of mercies;

be no vase of acid,
but please:
remain thyself

forever-full of love--
and I promise your gestures will never flake off.
(I imagine you are so warm and human--

please, let it be so.)