Warrior
right now is floating to the tick of an ever present clock
counting moments by what's missing instead of what's gained
shoulda shoulda shoulda woulda woulda woulda
but I'm too busy hanging my jacket on the crescent hook of the moon
coming back later the sign on the door says "Closed for Renovations"
the back of my bare arms are chilled now
taking my clenched fists out of pockets to rub my arms with palms
exposing the top of my hands to the autumn frost
where is that stairway to the moon again?
it's getting cold and this shaking slows my movement to a stagger
jumping in puddles only gets my feet wet while causing a scene
eyes: the less city light the more they seem to multiply
why should I give the stars something to stare at?
the universe is not my audience
this darkened downtown street is not my stage
pardon me as I trip down more than I step up
a break in the horizon excites my panic threshold
mistaking destination for a hole in the macrocosm
there is a voice raining its sound down from the sky
three minutes and thirty-one seconds of a lullaby
the frozen top of my hand catches tears from my stars
I am swaying to the calm motion of her heartbeat
a bolt of thunder snaps the music box closed
remember your place, remember your place
remember you're just a trace outline of who you want to be
a limping melancholy warrior in this race into space
mechanical movement dictated by the gravitational pull of the moon
waves come in three’s and I’m gulping six salty times
overextended, out of reach and pressed into the wind
the dusty debris field is not the problem
solid ground rolling beneath feet is simply not trustworthy
already walking to a shuffle and a beat
the floor collapses and I go all tiger stance ready to pounce
wide shifty eyes scanning scanning scanning countenance
split shadows straining to stay hidden in the twinkle of my vision
it's only light refracting atmospheric turbulence
but even sightless air is bumpy between here and there
forget the moon, I'm doing the backstroke in the Big Dipper
swimming disguises sweat and tears dripping from pores
and from this lofty view the ladle is likely to overflow
what it is what it is, my friends. come on in, the water's fine
falling back to earth on the wave that got away
flailing kicking realizing relaxing grabbing my jacket on the fall
the moon could use some shining tonight to light my way home
tick tock roll and rock stomp spin dip with a slick grin
feet ready for impact and I'm 'bout ready to knuckle down and try again
knock knock with a gentle fist, I'm here to help with the renovations.
October 2005