Sunday, February 8, 2009

50. Cracks

The truth is I measure cracks.
A life spent in measuring cracks
is not understood,
walls, floors, ceilings are easy
but then there are sidewalk cracks
that depend upon my mothers back.
Cracks are big in my mothers world.

Inches of space are big in my world.
To see them everywhere
requires belief
in the uncertitude of future events.

Hairlines in bones
are mercies of unknowing.

A life spent measuring cracks
means you live alone
in small rooms.
Boxes of pressure.

The street you walk on is
moving by unfelt forces
and the three ravens flying overhead
have meaning.

49. Message To Icarus On The Water

Hug is such
an ugly word for such
a simple pleasure.

As I would save you,
my hug gently placing you
on the land where you
would create futures of children.

Our flights are separate
and part of the whole.

Alone together,
Living in this forth dimension of years,
you, me,
two thousand five hundred years.
A pittance of tears between us.

A father who causes the
death of his son.

Living with the death ache.

"Save me father!"