Sights Untold: August 2015

Untitled VIII

dariaendresen.com

Untitled VIII (Art by Daria Endresen. Words by Norman Barton.)

What is present is dark.
What is dark is a present.
Now she take the life in her hands.
Then she thinks of future demands.
Tempting paper skin.
Thin veneer of grins.
Just a lonely passion-scape.
Tastes of childhood night escapes.
You are the single one.
A couple of moments from the sun.

And slowly the kiss evaporates from her lips. Tangled in spittal and remiss. You will only shrug it off with a simple bloody cough. All disasterous. All kept from everyone. Now across the present. Into the dark nascent.

Inner

He sees
Minds eye
Intent
He feels
Deep heart
Love
He flies
Spirit free
Relief

Untitled

This too, will end.
Simple moment.
Lost, found friend.

He typed, response.
Clearly known
Tragedy, ensconced.

Simple Disproportion

I left my self in thin veneer.
The shellac, lacking.
I was only didactic.

A predilection to voice my veiled actions.
But it wasn't me.
They lied in simple truths when honesty was dressed to thrill.
Homage to my own pain and distortion they'd say.
But I'm privy.
Blinded by the brightness understanding.
I will not be demanding.
No wailing or gnashing of the teeth.
I won't sue for slandered emptiness.
I will, instead, torch the bridge back there.
Leave the obvious forward path, an only child of decisions.

And I will be wildly righteous.
Dogmatic in my repose and soon to be blissful.
Not respite though.
No.
Fully loaded guns and spray paint.
I will deride the good and supplement the nothing with splashed out words like "equality" and "tolerance".
I remember you saying that the company is a very long time.
The "company".

My story.
From bloody birth to grisly purification.
How I lauded them.
How I have been trivial in self.
Lacking the core.
The device to love at length was transition.
Only a void in pain.
And fear only a debacle of my own lively hope.

I'll reach for the door now.
Grip the doorknob.
And open everything out, out to rectify the lost time.
Out to divorce the compromises.
Annul the sadness that always makes me cry.

Memory

Gather the slim white fabric, rippling around her feet.
Like water, it covers the ground as it slips
In smoke she fades and retreats
I can't hold the motion of her
Can't lose sight of her
She is only the night
Again to be reborn
Intoxicating form
Blue lovely
Reborn
Sweet
Shy

Not Here

Fresh steam rising, handle released, and deep dark espresso streams languidly into the cup.

Hands pushing cash and change with ruby red nails and little skull and dice rings.

Single shot. Hot.

She flipped her hair with a puff of breath, somehow more magic than physics.

The line of liquid cut across the dense white foam. Bitter flavor mixed with milky smoothness.

Short cup. Lips.

There wasn't a song but a repeating skip on the jukebox. Some beat, shaking hips without chords.

With that, she bumped it, grin and with up cast eyes, looking like a song you love but don't mention.

"London Calling". Clash.

The night was all black cats and moonshine. The open sign just kept arcing longer than anyone wanted.

Nothing stopped her though, two sugars and a lid to go. Out to the street and her dark horse, into some other dream?

Tail lights. Fade.

When Restless

In the dark, restless dreams embark.

Last Night and the Moon

We quelled our thirst on soft words and glasses of sweet memories. We dove into the ether of the night and found songs of discourse, born of art, love, divine insight, and wine.
Nothing seemed common. All was delight.
The night cradled the blue moon and our endeavors in libation.
We all smiled, night flowers blooming with joy.
Cheeks flushed with candid talk.
All under the arc of luna.

Finer Dream Points

Last night a dreamed a friend was in a rehab and I went to visit her while her group was out somewhere. We then decided to walk back to the facility to see if they would let her go to coffee. We walked through some strange alleys and found people who wanted to share cigarettes with us. As it turned out some were joints. I accidently lit one of the joints and put it out. About the same time another friend showed up and was stoked about the joints. Then a strange turn of events, this latino woman was mad about the joint being lit but not smoked, as I tried to talk to her a bunch of gangsters in low riders showed up and started chasing/hunting us.

We all got separated.

And I ended up hiding.

Sad.

Alone.

And no coffee.