I exchange sleepless oceans with you, many you’s, all in one
disordered evening where everything feels right not to make sense
in any way, as if this disconnection is somehow a holy fragment
from a wise man who sailed under the stars centuries ago,
to escape attention, conversation, the emptiness
and pull of wanting belonging to soothe
on frozen, listless days.

To study fingers as one would linguistics; the syntax of bodies
melting, becoming, pure becoming: the firelight, the interplay, the weaving
of sorrow and inexplicable joy, the resiliency of another tomorrow
somehow an aurora in muted, pastel grey.

Become a metaphor inside an endless spiral; become a verb of deserts
and moonshined gulleys pressed between palm and windowpane.
Sirens, banshees: wild women to your Cernunnos, Pan,
with endless wine and heavy grapes.

There is a story here I will whisper,
and mean to finish
one day.

Copyright © 2010 Jason Morales

Jason is a Kiwi Filipino.  Slightly conflicted.  Slightly frazzled with life yet likes going for moonlight runs in his boxers sometimes.


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