Day XLI: Absence

Here and there, I enjoy stream of conscious writing. This is one such piece. 

In the blood of the stars I can hear your voice crying out over the waxing waning moon like the swooning calls of mother earth as she bleeds the bloody dirt of earth and turns like paper on wax and candles on flames that dance like mice in the corner with three little pairs of glasses and six tapping feet in a yard full of gnomes and shrubs and grass and dogs playing fetch like the word that can never be in or never be like you.

Whisper in my ear like the worlds between the lines drawing on boundaries that fall across our hearts and faces and beat into the dark like four beating breathing broken minds that fracture like glass shards on the floor of our souls walking forward into the cold dank chill of nighttime sky stars glowing forever and ever and every time you ask if we’re okay I want to shout back no no no no no no no no no no no until you understand that there is nothing you did wrong or I did for us to be happy again and that not trying at all is an attempt all its own.

Hollow ground like the saints of tomorrow and today only make sense when they are alone and afraid in the woods while wolves watch on with eyes that have sight and bring fire to the tips of her tongue while you suck at her lips and make it known that there is no one else in the room but you and her and me watching you like two marbles in the vase on your dresser that leaves and goes far far away into the wild blue yonder until it disappears like a twinkle twinkle little star.

Howl until my throat is dry and full of blood and fire that wants like desire and lust to burn and boil you away into oblivion into emptiness into vacancy that is just like brevity and wit and cunning and sparks flying like lightning bugs in the July sky on fire with green and yellow flashes between the trees and branches and waving arms of twigs and leaves and creaking cracking twisting oaks and moaning birch bark canoes on water skimming skirting falling away like waves beating against the shores of a screaming crying dying skull full of night and day work against the sands of time in that hourglass of your mind.

Pick up your feet and beat them across the stones and rocks and jagged broken glass that falls from your shelves and guards your thoughts like a prison of terms and those eyes those eyes you say those eyes break my heart and set those tears out like the dying sky that bleeds so fresh and so unsure and so young you’re so young and I worry that those nights will leave you so unbound so alone so afraid of what you can and are.

Tear that arm and leg and make that flesh so formed and so toned and check your pulse in the murky mist of twilight beating across your brow in beads of battered beaten broken sweat and curse the quickening heart beats bump bump bump and thumping like fire in the breathing night and the shattered panes of a brunch colored sky that tastes like eggs and smiles and rays of sunlight that pokes your lungs and stops short the breath that rises up up up and away and out of the heart beating like sticks on tight drum heads in perfect perfect shapes like the circle of dust on you dresser.