Long Days and Harder Nights

Joy bids the nightbird, and to the scheming cat watching her, crouching ephemeral spirit of the ground, living in anticipation

Beyond the clouds prowl the horses that snort and chew fire and shit darkness, past the flags of protraction, the flags of petrification

Time up there does not exist or carry itself with the same grand accord it finds here on earth, as it sleepwalks among man, picking our pockets of moments on the slightly shaded nightside of what could have been

The hours creep like stony eyes across the room, daring us to look at the clock, but I wont do it

It’s calling me and soon I will have to go

The future was bright sometime in the past that was always stealing glances at the cuckoo’s hands and faces to decide which show was being put on and for whom

“It’s got that chick on the cover, the one with the lurking eyes who looks as though she never eats or sleeps” I say

“We’ll keep in touch” and another song starts, workin’ out the differences between diamondback voices and vinylside promises

Standing up, the blood rushes to save the daylight in my head and I nearly fall over

Behind me a man plays piano, some four-dog madness

I become a sleeping log ferried ‘cross the chilly Mersey waters

He is a grand old black dude with harps in his hair, fingers like knotted olive branches

I cannot see him but I know he is there

 

Patience comes to those who wait, original time begging a forgiving Eve in that solitary Olde Garden, but gaining only a pesky raven and an order of barbequed ribs

Thought rolls over me like a wave, but that’s such a boring way to say it

Woolgathering moonblind stallions pursuing the daystar across reluctant morning skies hesitating to dream, to chase, to relinquish

 

I would be foolish to cross that which I fear, for a thin line, an ambiguous horizon, is only a merciful transition, fanciful pearls not distinguishing between enduring suspicion and rigorous indifference

Pulling apart, stretching the spandex day, becoming the helminthic night, personal prayers for the eternal soul and the animal damned brought forth to judge the remaining sapiens sapiens

I can hear the nightbird tonight, she is singing outside my window, “awaken lonely friend, and go gently, gently as you bend”

Trains bray great diesel whalesongs, echoing through downtown concrete caverns and canyons, giving no quarter to misty summer midnight dreamers

Joy bids the nightbird, and to the scheming cat watching her, crouching ephemeral spirit of the ground, living in anticipation

Loss of sensation and pain in the incessant rotation on our wobbling axis of neverending and inescapable gravitational frustration

 

I can hear the rocks thrown to the beach, grinding problems of granite shores into finer sands of that peripatetic slumbering stumbler, time

Carcass driftwood set free by distant storms, agitated remnants from the wistful pulse of our heavenly planet’s magmatic cardiology

Danger lies in the limelight heat of high speed, atonement condensed to fit in a thimble becomes very bright with the thought that someday we might become a chronicled revelation

The volcanic beast cometh and becometh Spartan tribes of the seven obsidian thunders as we try to keep ourselves together when all lustrous proposition suggests eventual vagration

 

Gone stargazers get to it, with it, bring it all back on up here, set that shit down, relax

Barleycorn, barleycorn, good old grainy John Barleycorn, hayseed wanderers in eternity’s corners, locked into turning points of mythical formers

“I’ll write this poem for you if you come over tonight” I say

Breathless eyeballs and long periods counting, guessing, caressing, stressing

That sole fool, heels of his shoes, leather bound trodders down blue corridors untrue

Long days and harder nights, waterfall freeway carsongs scaling the dusty heights, doubled up with suffocating dreams of mountains sitting distant by miles across water….

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