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this fiction of mine laboured tightly in the skull of memories and mysteries worked to the wheel by furies who deal the willing thread in...

Friday, June 21, 2013

of course there was much confusion at the river



of course there was much confusion at the river
trading words of penance for the remission of sin
we saw it from atop the terrace hotel
and through every nonsense
and under the incantation of a full moon
i lost my best lies to you right on the gaming table
fatuous and warped by the numbers
dizzy at the sight of revolving angels
_and with feathers in our drinks_
before a wild crowd who cheered the mighty engines
pulling emotionless spinning their giant wheels
as the days meandered away with each other spells
showing you immodestly wanting to be mine
as I was yours plenty and always
with guitars sounding like bells ready
to usher our way into the whirlwind of being in love
and ring our hearts in tune with our darling songs
in a way we could not convey to any of the present
though some said they understood the drill
so we went on becoming with the feeling
that no one knew the right words nor the way out
we sat there holding hands moist under the table
and saw the numbers blurred on the wheel
signs beyond recognition held us still
and then and there we bared our telling phrases
like litanies of tall tale bits their meaning
uncertain fitful to ourselves

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