No Subject

[Guest guest]

No Complaints.

 

I am up, and leaping into You. The poetic dramas of my

yesterdays, blown apart by an other dawn. The divine wind

is going to howl today. No peace for my cringing conceits,

no larder for the neat little lie, or the theatrical productions

of my art. Just a storm in a cup you will pour for this Love.

 

My shampoo is ‘T-gel; for my dry scalp syndrome. I use

‘Dove’ soap. These are my body totems as I bathe in your

body of love. I may die soon, and I am rushing headlong

into death as if it were loves sweetest orgasm, and it is. I am

remarkably less bullshit than a few minutes ago. Then, I

was just a blithering snake oil charmer. Now I am at least

human. Its a miracle what a moment of awareness will do

for our wardrobe of dreams. I have come to understand a

great divine secret, and I don't think this little man can take

or leave it anymore.

 

It’s as if I were a great and glorious Master living in a tiny

cell of memory, and choosing one tick of time to reveal a

story, way too big to be revealed in stages. In those eternal

summer-lands of youth, I once kept a bumble bee in a match

box for a week. My pet, my pet, I am so sorry to have kept

you so confined. How lovingly I carried you around in your

match wood recess, whispering to you sweet nothings, and,

'you are the Universe, I am taking you to school to show

you off so proudly, my pet.' Master bee I bow before your

bubbling joke. I whir my remembrance to a higher stutter

of being now.

 

This old coat will not fit anymore. A mighty presence has

made a squat of my pad, and is pulling the walls down. Eric

is marking time in a moon pond with a shadow. While a

mighty being cracks his heart open like a nut looking for

good things to eat. When did I become your pupil and only

lover? How come you chose me to fuck with? I just wanted a

little love, but you moved in like an invisible giant woman,

and have been teaching me all the tricks my other little girls

forgot to mention. If you say "jump" I start climbing the

wall of myself, howling for your inevitable love berating.

“To low little master†You say. “Much too low for my frog

prince. I want you hopeless enough to do something with.â€

 

Long time ago, in the land of now end ever. I walked in your

heart as your consort. The universe was our pastime, and

we sang alien music to the turning stars of this our vast

being of two in One. And now I have come back to wake up

in a thousand boxes just for you to open again, and release

me from this self imposed jail house rocking.

 

You said, “Be†and I be-came. You said, “bumble along.â€

So I started to buzz. You said, “be Me,†and now I am

eating every box of myself to be Your honey. Nothing is

good enough for Your pleasure, yet all is good in Your

pleasing. You want a lover for Yourself, and will not settle

for this second rate old hand, but bring Your hand to mine,

clasping Your own. You want me for Your infinite supper,

and I am cooking as fast as I can. “To slow.†You say. “I

think I will have to beat the carpet of you, to see again my

artwork more richly.†I hang on your cloths line and say,

“get the carpet beater, I am ready, and my dust is longing to

be a mirror of Your face.†God speeds me in Her spread,

and I am just not content with anything but this howl in the

wind of love. No complaints.

 

love

 

eric

 

 

 

Copyright 2002. Eric Ashford.