Pyschedelic trippin

someday, I said,

I want to meet you again.

I want to find you in the middle of a crowded empty coffee shop sidewalk,

and write on your hands;

we'll sit at a little table with french iron lacework with our little cups of sophistication and knowledge,

discuss sports(yawn) music (perhaps even make some), the meaning of life even.

and you'll give me lollipops-(lots of lollipops?- yes)

My tongue will change colours- fifty different colours! I'll speak rainbows for days,

instead of goodbye,

and you'll part from me with memories of blue trailing from your violet thoughts while red and yellow trade places with green between your palms as you squeeze orange through your fingers. And our lips gasp swivels of pink on cheeks, necks and foreheads.

(our thoughts are peculiar ribbons of indigo)

Backpedal

Love 2, circa 2008

Congregation of Faith

It's a tricky word...hope. Seems to be irony's biggest ally. In the battle of happiness, there are no sure winners. But the demon persists. If only the feeding would pause. Life is a joker's paradise. There is jest in every move and the tune of an satire on each pair of lips. I only wonder in the ultimate war, when did the battle of the skeptic and innocent take place. Was I even there? Where was the war- zone? And what I'm still figuring out...who won?



It's hard for me to fall in love. But each time I re-learn to let go, I feel I'm in the midst of a war of the worlds. If only the Beatles were singing All you need is Love right now, I'd listen intently and follow them across the universe in search of answers. But I wouldn't want the song to fade away on I love you yeah yeah yeah...that remains as an afterthought. It leaves hope, a dumb glee, a growing blush and a heartbeat - what if.



It's best to avoid the verse at all points. Kipling's poem is lost in a corporate jungle somewhere where performance managers continue to drive the mumbo down endearingly. Only my life is unroutinely chaotic to follow the consistent meandering. But I still wonder. The regret of loss is probably the worst feeling. But it revisits often.

Three days, three calls - still one lonely heart. Learning to adjust!

Love...again

She stood at the edge of the ocean. Talking to the waves as she had done on many occasions. This time there was ferocity in the waters. As if they mirrored the violence in her heart. Her face gave nothing as she peered into the distant horizon - that would be at day break. The night had become her favourite companion to accompany her on her moonlit walks across the lands that meet the sea. Only this time, light was threatening to kill the darkness. She was waiting for the eventuality at dawn break. Her dream was dying and she watched as a shallow outsider. Too scared to mourn, too proud to fall, too weak to hurt. Ironic. The freedom she longed for was right beside her in easy company, yet hope planted the seed of love. How easy, she thought to let the pain take over and float with the southbound waves. How righteous to stay on the edge and gaze. Numbness. Irony. Love. Freedom. She made a mental note. Her life’s thesauras needed another update.

Perfect Word

Silent echo
A muffled wish

Deep gash
A salted wound

Deadly sojourn
A still journey

Feverish pitch
An unheard cry

Black tea
A balming concoct

Vodka straw
An invited misery

Simple life
A distant memory

Home town
An online blimp

Size zero
A soulful state

Calendar Girl
A jaded reality

Happy tune
A misleading lie

Summer house
A Facebook profile