In the hinterlands of my imagination
where freak storms roll in
like drunk women in frilly skirts
causing painful, beautiful murder
of all normalacy
I see through lightning
the shape of things to come
high on thicket verge, washed with thunder
for moths to pelt their fragile wings against
till dawn
and it is no wonder I stay in shadow
gripping my childhood memories
brandished against unseen specter.
**
In this likeness, I grow blind, a portend
wishful of erasure
in another
we dance lubricated
our throats thick with mirth
finger prints dipped with sexed perfume
straddling our sore thighs
in time to the evermore chant
forged of want
and guts and blood
fresh from spilling
We face Desire,
Meeting Eros, Kama, or
Or by some other name
Like unto another deity of yore
Janus, of the two faces
Knowing fear of the danger
Knowing hope of the bliss
To withdraw to shelter from the storm
Or spread wings to ride the wind
Is there a third way, a middle road?
Perhaps I heard it sung by a modern bard;
“‘Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form
Come in, she said
I’ll give ya shelter from the storm”
[Bob Dylan – Shelter From The Storm]
One of my favorite songs