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Occident |
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Mercy me, the night is long. |
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Take my pen, to write you this song. |
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Lord: is it harder to carry on, |
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or to know when you are done? |
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All my life, I've felt as though |
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I'm inside a beautiful memory, |
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replaying |
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with the sound turned down low. |
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Long-life, show your face. |
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Slow-heart, curb your taste. |
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Smoke me out of my hiding place. |
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Long-life, state your case. |
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What in the world are we waiting for-- |
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building glowing cities along the shore, |
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where the wind batters in, |
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baiting my kin like a matador? |
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So much value, placed upon |
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what lies just beyond our plans: |
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waving my handkerchief, |
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running along, till the end of the sand. |
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Long-life, speak your name. |
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I'm so tired of the guessing game. |
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But, something is moving, |
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just out of frame: |
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Slow-heart, |
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brace and aim. |
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Breaching slowly, across the sea, |
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one mast-- |
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a flash, like the stinger of a bee-- |
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to take you away, |
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a swarming fleet is gonna take you |
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from me. |
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The universe is getting loose: |
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sodden spread, |
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from some leaden disuse, |
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rushing, unhinged, |
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toward diminishing lights, |
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like a headless caboose. |
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I'll wait for you, |
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alongside the ocean, |
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and make do |
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with my no-skin. |
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But then, Long-life, |
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will you let me in? |
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And then, Slow-heart, |
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are you gonna know him? |
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Long-life, speak your name. |
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I wait, while I decry the wait. |
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And when I die, may I relate: |
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Slow heart, congregate. |
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To leave your home, and your family, |
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for some distortion of property? |
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Well, darling, I can't go. |
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But you may stay |
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here, with me. |
