They Met Under the Promise of Rain

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They met under the promise of rain

a bit of water drops

somewhere between molecules

we imagine parts

of some simple cannon

the parts go round and round and play off one another yet

the sound is still dissonant

the bit of water drops

forms take up steam

steam takes up the heat of the sun and the heat of the earth’s core

we are two lovers talking

over hot coffee when

that metaphor takes hold where a hand sweeps innocently across the surface

of water and picks up a drop of water inadvertently and settles it in a different body of water, the transference alters such a delicate cycle

of events so as to produce at the end

a river where once

only a wadi could be

maintained

gripping life…or rather…being gripped by life’s attention to surface we see only

the hand wave magically across that smooth glaze

we do not see

that odd transference when

something broke the dam

on the other side of the world….something made the seas build up white frills, made

the seas cast out the carrion which split open, yielding jewels and other brilliant prizes.

pick them all off now as the sun makes its way into that

impossible distance…as the stars begin to cover the sceone with a mottled tranquility

the creeps and weirdoes of the world scavenge the beach for the bits you’ve left behind

that bit of water drops

that bit of water drops

that bit of water drops

the canon sings out “we are home.”…the dissonance sounds like a ship breaking up on the reefs, all hands lost and all jewels going down only to be flung to the shore by that bit of water that drops from your hand you sweep across the surface of life

Belief which is the distraction

you believe

the long ships filled with death

they are drinking

the long ships filled with life

they are drinking

every time has its own set of words

every time has its own set of curtains

every time has its own seas

every time has its own sweet fruits

back off…the breeze was not a kite-filling breeze

dragon and that little evening you filled

back off…stand down

the breeze was not a kite-filling breeze

drag the life until you slow down

you were a mirror and I made you look at me with it

I made you look at me with a mirror that I made from you

mercy

 

hope

grace

when we are young we are the engines of life consuming all

when we are old we are that which the engine consumes

children fuck and are not aware that as they fuck

the moist droplets fall out of them and leave them drying

up on the inside….the is the word about life

and life is a plate

filled with leafy things

and fleshy things

a boat through the dead seas it goes and dips below and up again it comes

seemingly unchanges

I have no appetite but yet I chew the things I am believing are so

I chew God

because there is life outside of me

I chew hope

because there is grace beyond necessity

I chew angels

because there is a fever that will not break and it tells me I am an angel in

the dead zones which are so so close around me and closing in

your name or my name

which I insert here

little darlings have their

hands

warmly rubbed

little darlings have their

eyes

softly filled with safety

(there’s life beyond you…you know)

there’s life beyond you, you know….when the angels fell from grace and made

pain possible it was a metaphor of that child who knew

how to hold his hands up to be warmly rubbed

and how the child knew to take in the sweet safety a life could contain

but life knew you and did not let you go

life knew had been and would be and would not always be but let you see

the sliver of that timeless gesture

so when a man makes a machine weave such

tones that resemble the body struggling unto

and through death

you knew we had a gesture that swept past you, and life was a boat upon which

you could float

float

 

the land down below

the seas high above

we couldn’t contain them both

my love was with you

but was not enough

the priest sings to his acolytes…”the lord is blessed above all things”

the priest sings to his acolytes…”the lord blesses all things”

the priest sings to acolytes…”the lord is an engine and we are its steam”

come with me love into that sweet abode

talk in the language of silk in the language of pearls

talk in the language of honey in the language of sweet air in the language of angels for there are angels where the sidewalks have been broken up, there are angels were a waitress spills a glass of water on a lap, there are angels where two strange sets of eyes meet and release the other to that oblivion of anonymity we hold around us like a shawl beating back the bitter cold winds

that angel there…her hands are so inviting…you want to kiss her hands

that angel there…there’s life for her that’s not a sreal as life

which separates gold filigree grom the mud and leaves the mud

in formless mounds

life the apostle itself

life the messiah itself

we have jesus…and jesus is a fine god

and jesus is an angel we kiss and jesus is a satellite we look up to the heavens for

praise the sun for its too far to touch

praise the moon for it is too far to feel

jesus was real and jesus was real and jesus was real

oh my satellite

how he cried the day the sun fell out of the sky

how he wailed the day the moon fell apart like chalk crushed under some heavy stone

how he cried

mercy

hope

grace

my god was in me and

I let him go

children eat everything in front of them

poisons pass right through

or so it feels that way until

they are confronted with the stuff that passed through them and are at once

toxic

I eat alone grace

hope

mercy

god gave us these pearls

over and over and over and over the sound of machines blunt the human

whisper “I sleep alone”

‘I would love you if you let me

‘I am not only a soul but am a part of souls

‘I am lifted by the stars

‘I am planted by the sweet river

‘I am born I am born I am born

do you know the name of God?

I remember everyone’s name but God’s

written we are masters…written we are the shapes and we are the times

all times

we come back to the sun where we were born

we release everything and as soon as we don

it all rushes back in….my love

love was a part of strange angels talking to one another without say a word without singing without moving an arm or a hand or raising a brow or turning a lip…love…love was once the bottom of the sea inventing light where only dark stood…

the phosphorescent angels that had wings of brilliant scarlets and palpable blues…my love

my love

who will you have with me

when my eyes shut like the closed petals of a rose…who will you have with me when I am broken like the dried leaf made into a powder in the palm of an indifferent hand…I had a terrible heart and it was full of the seconds that I ate without thinking…I head eaten seconds without thinking…I eat seconds without thinking…

when you are dead you will be born on the air as a soft

cloud of ash and you will feel undone and unknown

and you will be grace and hope

grace

and hope and mercy there never really were

angels

angels came from the bored minds of kings and queens who had no place to put grace and hope in the minds of the poor serfs who struggle to make dry soil yield enough fruit to sup upon….

so angels fell out of the skies and the villagers gathered round them and poked their sides and felt their wings and wanted to kiss them and fuck them….

and hope

and mercy

and grace

Dear God,

look at this place

look at my hands

look at my eyes

what am I breathing through?

you are a far sun

you are an unfathomable depth

would not a maker be here next to us?

would not a maker be singing next to us?

I look in the seas and I look in the stars and I find that all things are composed

of the same basic stuff

I am resting

I let you go

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About Paul Gordon 1368 Articles

Paul Gordon is the publisher and editor of iState.TV. He has published and edited newspapers, poetry magazines and online weekly magazines.
He is the director of Social Cognito, an SEO/Web Marketing Company. You can reach Paul at pg@istate.tv

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