Just one more dance

I don’t really know much about you, except that you’re here one moment, and gone the next, well, I can tell you, that’s exasperating, like a digger driver in the sand looking at his watch.

Found some jazz on the other channel, some sweet eternity of blues that had me turning up the heat and mixing up my metaphors so much that I couldn’t count sheep anymore, and so had to move downstairs.

As I descended the stairs, giving away my soul for light, my heart gave a little flutter, and looked at all the things it was gluing together on the way down: Macaroni of course. A flight to Venice is always nice. There were so many things.

But I was so into fixing things to make them better that I forgot to look behind me, so that when reality grabbed me I felt I was unready and began to spray paint myself into oblivion about it.

Thank god for the spare spanner though, hey?

Oh dear god yes, thank god for the spare spanner.

I was neoprene the excellent, and yes my lips were blue, but I wasn’t sure if I would get paid here where I was chasing what wouldn’t be found.

So I went to look for something else.

Walking into the kitchen I came close to the witching spells my love had hung up to dry, and as I brushed by, my arms tingled.

Yes, I was giving away my soul in every moment that came, and glad I was to do it, it was fun.

And then a morning when the postman came to do his thing, he found the front door open and a suicide note on the floor looking very tired, and still, still as the dark night gone.

That’s some kind of pain that causes that, thought the postman bending over the note and putting the letters on the counter.

“I’ll just leave these here then,” he said.

And dropping the letters on the counter he made to leave the death scene and found that, over in an alternative universe, on the edge of everything a hand was reaching out to grasp him.

“Whooo,” said the hand.

The postman was suddenly scared, and looking at the way out he ran as fast as he could to get away, but the hand grabbed him and pulled him back.

“There’s no escaping this,” said the hand, and slapped him.

“Am I in hell?” asked the postman with his white staring eyes looking all around him.

“I’m over here, entertaining all the guests, and you’re asking questions?” said the hand that was crawling upwards by degrees towards his heart.

“I am only delivering letters,” opined the postman, caught.

“Don’t you know by now that you are all things, and all things are you?” growled the hand, almost there and breathing hot jazz down the neck of the postman.

“Oh, boob-job from hell, leave me alone,” shouted the postman and tried to push the hand off of him. But it was no use: he was well and truly caught.

A passing ship going to Bermuda did nothing out of the ordinary and carried on sailing through the waves.

Of the many that came to bury their dead under my tree, there was one that I cared for and sang many songs to, until she disappeared into my dreaming.

I still have a place for her in my heart.

Perhaps it will be filled one day.

In the perfectness, where she comes from.

Or perhaps it may not.

I was thinking that I must be up a level or two by now with all the happenings to me and goings on so much so I was becoming blind and looking sideways out of my head like some drunk on the rebound from another bar.

Grrr, I said and advanced into the unknown.

The shadows enveloped me in the hidden unknown of where I was advancing. So I welcomed them with open arms and guided them into the plantation of my soul where they became mulch until I didn’t know who was who anymore.

I forgot all the pathways to the words I was looking for, and let go one more little bit.

Words inside my head burying me with my eyes open wide were making me make imputational computations burning in my belly.

I was really swinging and thinking: oh holy cow, I have had enough wisdom, thank you very much.

I’ve overdosed on wisdom.

I’m, saturated.

Oh, just one more dance.

Okay then, but only one.

Looks like I’ll get to the grave with nothing left to give, a beggar coming home; but that’s alright, I’m glad I’ve spent all I’ve had to give; I’m glad I saved nothing but my heart that finally opens to give away my soul into the arms of the one that brought me here.

It’s good that I’ve survived all the broken. It’s good that I’ve survived at all.

I know you don’t ask, but this is what I have to bring you:

A sweet eternity of longing…

Image from Pixabay