Thursday, July 26, 2007

When Rome Burns

It's all been hand-delivered through end-times theology.
The forthright destruction of civility.
When we can't believe is when we start to.
The light finds it's way through the fractured cracks, and we know that we always knew.

Come one night, the North Star will be all there is to guide us.
It will point and shimmer on the things inside us.

The duplicitous heat will be more to handle than one million candles shining a path on antiquity...from start to finish, we'll stand accessible to infinity.

On the roof of the Plaza del Toro we'll watch the empire crumble before our eyes. Your hand in mine, we'll find out what all this is for. Look out over the river, it sends a shiver, but in the protective hands of a foreign country we find ease. We find peace.

Stand righteous and proud like a veteran toreador...pushing his luck....stand under my thumb, breathless and numb. I could be with anyone, but I don't give a fuck. I want to be with you. That marked night, when your eyes are as dark as the Mexican sunset casting shadows, hair as dark as an amber brew. My eyes on this night are a blistering blue.

The silence rests on our ears as the blasts and explosions fade away. Smoke and debris is all we can see through the chaos and heat, someone pulled the wheels out from under our feet, on the final day the world turned away. A stoned angel trying to find his way home after a night of drinking salvation, convinced he's done his deed for the day. Putting souls in his pocket to deliver to their maker. The howls resonate and evaporate from the metropolitan districts. From New York, to Dallas, to Miami, to LA. We've no care because we got away. It's dark as hell, but warm. We push on together, in total disarray.

This is the second time I've written for you, but I trust it won't fall on deaf ears, wasted senseless on an exalted ingenue. I feel the scars on your chest. Just know that there is rest. Just forget all the words we've already spoken, and just remember that we all come to the table broken.

I find myself, at the end, at the beginning.
It comes full circle.
In this time the world seems vast, the change has come and we'll avoid the harlots of my past.
Shedding cells of abuse, burning all the proof that we were ever imperfect before this moment.

Je vous veux dans ma vie
It seems to be all I can see.

We'll point our noses South and count our steps. I'll keep tally marks and you can tell me stories of youth and unrest. We're a beautiful mess. I'll smile and nod, we'll stop at the michoacana and get lost in the language we can't speak. We'll do it for weeks. We'll see where it leads. Drink agua frescas and stumble through the markets on the main streets. Bartering not our souls but our pennies. That's all we need. All we need. What do we need? Only a few Hail Mary's to the Virgin Mary to ask for safe passage, we're searching for something, always searching for something and our pursuit is beyond savage.

But I have you.

No matter the faults, there's always proof that everything happens for a reason. We will find ourselves in the middle of this season. When intensity reaches it's peak. For it's there that you learn how to be weak and coincidentally find your strength.

I hold your words like farewell letters from a pen. And I know, for certain, that I am blessed among men.



Tuesday, July 03, 2007

T.L.O.M.L.

It's quite ironic that the bracelet broke on the day that I saw you. It's quite ironic that I had a backup ready at hand upon my return. Why didn't I just leave it off? Why didn't I just let my wrist be free of it's reminders of so many things? It would've been fine without it. It still had a resident with my silver chain. Why did I have to return it to it's proper place? I've asked that question 100 million times. No answer. Just like the billion words that are sitting in wait to be exchanged between the two of us, but does it matter anymore? Maybe they're better served laid to rest.

If I could get paid for thinking about it, I could purchase countries. I could
outbid empires. Procure half the world. If I could tell you how difficult it is to actually address it, I could withstand all measures of dissolution. But it's rather important for me to deny my recidivist nature. You know this all too well.

It seems to be like a rusty mailbox. You open it up to see if there's anything new in there. To see if a delivery of sorts occurred. You already know what's in that mailbox because you looked inside of it for so long, but you wander if there's something divergent waiting to be removed and opened. I don't know how either perspective glanced, but the box was opened. My stomach dropped when I saw you. Hazy and blurred, but feverish and intense...like always.

Normally a tryst like this would've punched my ticket to depression, but there's something different this time. Something unfamiliar and blank. It doesn't hold that same old sting. I watched you drive off, and then went on about my day. Figuring I'd figure as much out if I didn't try to figure it out. It worked. Time and again, we try to outdraw each other and be the first to touch off a shot. But I don't want my gun anymore.

I can see you in your twilight. A woman looking back on her life and the places, people, and situations she's touched and those that touched her. That nice boy you knew in your youth. The one who always had the nicest things to say to you. Your reminiscent approval or dissatisfaction of my actions and movements.

If I'm not careful I can convince myself to fall in love with you again. I used to think we were just alike in certain regards, but now I see that we couldn't be more different.

God, I pray my last words aren't your name.

"Untie me, I've said no vow..."