distant echos
mad city screams,
tires asphalt
love songs and barking lonely dogs
This Life and everything in it:
Murmur mimic and pretend to matter
each tangent building to the crescendo of the falling rain
tropic heat humid nights cool circles exhales and cold bitter hearts sick with dreams
it feels something more than a bit lip moment of reality.
Baby it all comes striking again like the worn bent nail
rusty with time- torn with abuse, buttressed against compressed joints.
I stand proudly with each breath and painful exhale absent of you
like the distant echos a murder memory-
you sting swear and curse kissing me madly
blessed, confused, impossible, torn, hurting alone
and I
stand deftly aware of all my misgivings
and that I can not yet support you
irresponsible child yet a man mentoring others
on the roller coaster of the shit I know
but simple life I can't understand
I don't know
but hear me utter sounds in a
strange dialect and pray in the language
known before birth
I stand naked and in awe
with the brutal reality
a man
i want to be distant of those
echos
which only remind me of what i was
where i failed
and what I could have been.
each reminding me painful arrows
striking my liver to clarify to me
that im done celebrating confusion and
fringes of life
as
something more important awaits me- you - our child- and
the painful reality that
Beauty is fleeting yet our heart strings are real- tangible- no bullshit-reminders that at the end of the day:
Men all look stupid in underwear-
looking as a boy, lost, mixed dreams, human frail, stupid and on the cusp of something GREATER
2.
moments
nothing else comes to mind
melancholy madness- dripping irritating faucets
its late early rather and she is not you
Listening to Jeff Buckley wearing pink panties a t-shirt
and typing to someone through the world wide web
you are not here alone in my world of well worn red lights
a house too big for a man absent of purpose-
like a hollow tree, standing erect showcase to the natural state of FRAGILITY
Ah... light the absence of painful hearts sickly chest exhales
and the big why.
Why?
Why?
Why God is it this way - to give a man a heart if it doesn't work?
The floor...answers me, wood- hard wood, dust tired and worn
distant wax trims to tell a tale of love long gone
Far from polish lost of remorse
sadly only a function its luster and newness brace and hopes dashed with too many alone empty nights devoid of you-
you-
your voice, your hopes and dreams
lost like the dusting and the people that loved.
3.
Selah.
The Lord is in His Holy Place surrounded in Scripture, Doctrine and all the rules that remind us how math is reality and the card game has a stacked deck.
You often don't hear of him, that man
normal amongst many but not a sheep he
drinking beer sadly thinking yet in prayer - he
his hear alone loves the Lord, that Lord they make too impossible
he - dusted, waxed, forgotten and once loved
maybe the simple glorious things:
Like men and hardwood floors-
wax, shine, elbow grease, spit and polish stood for something
then again we all hope, all wonder and all settle
the night answers no one, my memory feels so - so for the moment
i stay staring into the half lit darkness
making love to you and our memory
wishing,
hoping,
and praying for the answer
Different from the math I already know...
Kevin Leversee
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