The ghost of night shades
the waterfront, cliffs and his
hasty footprints in
the sand. Painted flowers and
her tears flow back to the sea.
Author: Don Morgan
Somnambulant
I still find myself wandering through the house searching
for something,
eventually, that will stop.
Still, in the mornings, I have this feeling I am forgetting something
important and I take another look around before I go,
eventually, that will change.
At night, I lay awake with thoughts that turn to tears
and then confusion,
eventually, I know I will learn to sleep.
At times, I catch myself trying to decide whether
I truly want to live at all, but I think,
eventually, that should pass.
And, when I think of you and wonder what happened,
I try to pretend you aren’t really gone,
eventually, I hope to get over that too.
Together
together we are often quiet
we share our time, we share a home,
we share our lives without complexity, artifice or posture
we share soft words, we share simple thoughts,
we share the knowledge of each other and we share the wonder
and then sometimes we lie on the bed
and there’s nothing to say, that’s when we just smile and look at one another.
Sleep
O, Sleep, sweet sylph of dreams
why do you spurn me, leave me here to worry these doldrums,
to face the hard shell of night.
If only I could breathe your cool breath,
feel your gentle kiss upon my cheek,
find relief in your depths. Come,
slip between the sheets with me,
sing your lullaby and
take me home to your quiet harbor-
Don’t leave me here to wander these barren shores alone.
Out Here
Out here, the cries of birds might be the only sound you hear,
voices strident, piercing,
silver flashing, some the color of nuts, acorn shells.
Banshees delivering dour messages of death for man
Blow wide through these empty spaces but
Leave the creatures of the water and heavens untouched.
There are nests afloat and birds flying high
looking for thin fish bathing near the surface,
Gulls, souls gentle as the placid water, soar.
The Lord of night himself is a pale bird, the shape of an eye,
slipping across the invisible horizon
seeking escape from the relentless moon.
Out here, the cries of the birds might be the only sound you hear,
They, with the blue endless sky,
clouds insouciant abide.
Just For Fun!
It was my first experience as an amphibian at high altitude.
I slipped from the wing of the jetliner and rode the heavy turbulence in the upper atmosphere using my body as a bobsled.
Falling straight down, suddenly rising then streaking through the ice cold clouds, I held my breath, folded my legs to my body and became a stone.
Finally, I dropped out of the clouds and into the warm night, a bird. I could swim, sail and fly this smooth air, just as I flew through water.
Close to the ground, I hit and slid across the plate glass of a parked car in the hills over Malibu, where
I was treated to a view of the couple inside making love on the back seat.
What a fine day!
Correction Factors
It is so lonely here in time
In downtown Detroit’s only diner still open at 2:30 am, the fluorescents chafe the street,
methamphetamine soullessly evaporates life, drains the blood of buildings, leaving them empty shells of crumbling brick
While I race to finish my work on a giant tablet of gridded paper, a matrix of time.
I race to realize the correction factors that can bring us back together again,
correction factors that came to me during the long sleepless nights when my eyes burned but I could not close them
I hurt
The night – the damned night fills the streets outside this window and it is cold.
I search for the final transcendence that will let us lie in each other’s arms again, but it’s so complex and this night…it will never go away
Time exists in the space of three orthogonal axes: you, me and us
I search for the correction factors that will resolve them and bring us back together again
It is the only way
I must get out of this bitter black coffee night forever.
No end, no bluing morning come to save me, no sweet breeze, no birdsong to rend the weak light, no cicada chatter to start the day
no hope
gRaFfItTi
Feet twist.
Shoes, the size of a city street, hover over my head and slam the pavement
all
around.
Music plays.
Sweating in the summer heat, these bastards swagger down the street in big brown shoes,
they smell like humans and leather,
they dream in acrylic smeared from horizon to horizon, from planet to planet. Using paint thick as frosting-
They paint a sky and sea and city streets with old buildings and
ancient red brick still showing signs of toothpaste campaigns that no one can even remember
Everywhere, eyes fill windshields, engines pump rhythm.
Painted walls, mahogany, expensive leather, her bra and panties,
here, cigarettes and condoms stretch across the glass table in a sloppy wet leap.
There, bumper car hoods bounce, sewing machines chew on polyester,
whistles, squeaks, whines and chirps are all the lighter colors, the
heavy brush does deep brown.
Protected: MoonLake
My Wife
My Wife
Hello, my name is Simon. I am a genius.
That is a point of information more than anything else, perspective.
For my part, I do my best to be invisible or at least hardly noticeable. And I think I am fairly successful on most days, most of the time.
When I was a baby, people thought the fact that I spoke at all was so cute and remarkable. When I was a sub-teen, they laughed at what I said, ruffling my brown hair and repeating it to one another as a sort of joke or under their breath on their way to get another wine.
But when I approached that terrible switch track of adolescence, it all changed. I noticed people becoming irritable with me. They began to make fun of me for the words I used and the things I did and for what I said. Or they would just suddenly shut up and never talk to me again.
Finally one day, I realized that everything would be so much better if I just didn’t say anything at all.
So it is. It is a burden to have to keep your mouth shut about what you see and know; still there really isn’t any choice. Once people become aware of what you see and know, they become afraid of what you might see and know about them. They guard their tongues, they watch you and watch what they say.
People don’t like geniuses. Fortunately, for those of us who are geniuses, there is no physical manifestation like color, height, length of hair or number of toes. We can stay relatively invisible if we choose and most of us do.
Until I got married, the only real friends I could find were those that didn’t really know me or just didn’t care. I spent my time with those guys loading trucks and packing grocery carts, as they were much less concerned about who I was than finding their next fuck which suited me just fine, because so much of the time I just wanted to exchange a few words or share a friendly joke. They would do this where others would not.
So my friends are not those you might expect.
Nor are my enemies. And these are the people with whom I must spend most of my time. To be clear, they are not my enemies but it seems that I am theirs.
Somehow, people are suspicious of me, probably because of something I say or do without thinking. I will come in to find the chair where I work cut to ribbons and the cushions soaked in water or the sleeves of my lab coat stapled shut.
And that is just the beginning.
There is really nothing I can do. No words I can say or deeds I can perform can change it in any way.
So, in general, I speak little.
And I am sure you would not be surprised to know, it took me forty years to find a wife.
But it was well worth the wait. I am fortunate to be married to a uncomplicated woman who has no idea or care about what I do during the day. She is happy to have me home for lunch and dinner. We talk about what she is doing with her friends and, occasionally, I accompany her to a dinner with her friends or we go to a function where no one else knows me or what I do, and we have a good time.
My wife is earnest and shrewd. Occasionally slightly dishonest in the pursuit of her dreams, which I am willing to accept. Indeed, it seems to me to be indicative of a deeper, more genuine honesty.
She does strive not to hurt anyone. And she is sincere, even if she must lie to be so. I admire that in her. I prefer, as you know, to remain silent.
My wife also has a natural affection for and ease with people. She can sit down with people she does not know, talk and laugh and genuinely enjoy herself from the first moment. I admire that too.
She can also be alone. Alone quite happily, entertaining herself with her games or music, stories or the television which works very well for us since I am often working on one thing or another.
And when I come home or stop working, she welcomes me to join her without asking what I have been doing or how it went. I don’t like talking about these things, especially since no one understands when if I do.
I also enjoy sitting with her on the couch watching television. We sit tangled in each others arms and legs quite happily watching something neither of us is actually paying much attention to. I generally think about something I am working on and she likes to play games on her computer.
I married a woman who will tremble with lust in front of a jewelry counter, want every pot and utensil ever made for the kitchen and who may simply not be able to leave a clothing store.
But most importantly, she accepts me for exactly who and what I am, without question, though not without an occasional reprimand.
At night I sleep close to her and she to me, and I don’t think about tomorrow.
We are just children.
I remember meeting my wife in Ecuador while I was traveling for the university.
I had been invited to dinner at my new patron’s home.
There were a lot of people, diamonds, wine, and fine silk draperies. I was sitting on a long leather couch with a small glass of rather dense liqueur beside me when my host came up to introduce his sister, a plump woman in a peach colored sheath skirt.
She stood before me smiling a wonderfully knowing smile, holding the fingers of her right hand in her left.
And I sighed and sat back into the couch feeling relieved, thinking, “So, this is what she looks like.”