Too late in the day for regret:
those years of lysergic and Lebanese,
of mushrooms and Millers,
when we knew,
despite the fugue of dissipation
in the theatre of the prodigal,
we were close to striking some vein of truth.
Always on the brink of some form of deliverance
or decimation:
free in the unio mystica of naked limbs,
or snared by some base hunger;
transfigured by a night swim in a bioluminescent bay,
or sinking under the sentence of a stone-eyed sun;
on route to liking some part of ourselves
taking shape in the haze,
or staggering into thickening dread.
That it should happen:
those years of locust liberated by a love story,
our mouths full of laughter,
our circus suits flung into the gorse,
our guitars and grainy photos packed for travel,
to walk, arm in arm,
out on the wild rim of happy;
who would have guessed that?
So good
Thank you dear Linda!
Again amazing
Words never known
Flow from the poet
Striking a chord
In receptive souls
Thank you so much Sheila!
… yes
Thanks adela!
So close to home. Love your writing Stephen.
That means a lot. Thank you Doug!
This sounds like a ridiculous thing to say,
here it is.. anyway,
so much beauty and poetry
in the soul of this,
and you
Thank you Stephen ?
Lovely words. Thank you so much Tamara!
Poetry and love – out into the rim of happy for me! Thank you
Thank you Ray!