Eyes In The Dark- Folio 6 Edition 4

I, Coffee, Wish

You sip on coffee that your friend made just before you woke up
I stand, staring, across the room, examining the way the cup fits in your hand

The warm liquid in the cup seems tranquil
It is pleased to give moisture to your lips

She, standing, next to me, focused on you, differently than I
We both know you’ll never fully understand the way she, me, or we, think about you

She, I, both, sit rigidly, waiting for you to finish your drink
You, sitting, thinking of what to do

Me, I, thinking, tapping my fingers, rapping on the oak dresser you bought month ago
You, not knowing what I think, but everything that passes through your mind enriches me,

. . . I can’t get enough of that . . .

Now, you and me, we have something, but no one really knows what to call it
So I stare at you, and speak with your friend, prying for new discoveries

We all go out, then, at night, hours later.
I stare at you across the room sipping y martini, slightly on the rocks,

You engulfed with many to talk
Me, I, man, becoming tipsy, running out of liquids to save my glass from the rocks

Digging deep, trying to find something worth your while to say
You standing, lighting the room, with that “let’s see what happens” look in your eye

A waterfall, the silk, your dress, colliding with the sky, the you, your skin
Bringing light to my eyes

Always, towards the center, shining bright,
Here, lies the smile, the lips, the soul
That has me begging to be the coffee, the liquid, the being, the one
That fills the cup, which warms your hands, and tickles your lips
Giving moisture to your soul

Fast

by Invisible Man

fast you are, my love;
you think you have passed me
but I sit inside you,
saving the drips from your veins,
watching you move--
like a machine,
you groan, you moan,
you creak, you leak,
you break.
you are broken.
your insides are beautiful, my love.

fast you are, my love,
but I catch you and stretch your arms to the horizon:
touch the sun before it's gone.

fast you are, my love.
you stuff you shoes with math
or knickknacks named in haste, for free;
take your faith and grind it to a paste.
take it with your tongue. it is sweet.

fast you are, my love,
like a rabbit through a trap,
or a pain loved and lost, too fast--
you fly through my mind and trip.
I use your eyes as spoons.
your mouth, a button-hole.
your breasts, a plot
for a movie with fire and death
and glasses filled with juice.

fast you are, my love;
faster than the last trap
before victory;
past the pit and the pendulum,
past the dogs, the spikes,
the heights, the birdshit spread
on logs, I find you
with your wicked, wicked words,
quietly waiting.

fast you are, my love,
like dogs on a track
like words on the back
of a paperback book.
you crumble into letters.
I could sum you in a glance.
sweep your words into a pile.
defile your name.
dance on your grave.
face you with nothing safe to say.
I do.
I do.

You Should be Dead to Me Now/Efficient Abandon

by Sebasian and Hunter Rose

By this time you ought to be dead to me.
I have sat through and sung at your funeral
I have scattered your ashes on waves and in mountain pools
I have lived an unsmiling life in a small city apartment and
Once I even stared at the flames that licked up the sides of the room
That I had left you in.
That was the time I killed my parents too
And destroyed my past and my future
With such efficient abandon
That I made myself sick in my brooding backseat
Feeling the void of my creation
Stare back at me
With greater intensity than my morbid fancy
Had known it possessed.
Still you are not dead
And my fevered plans of contingency
Only present to me anew
That loving fear
And fearful love
Are like a sunrise
Fraught with lightning.

Efficient Abandon

Your backseat magicks worked; the flames leaped high, curled and licked at the walls with full ferocity, with quick-burning desire, with an ache soon left unanswered by blackened walls and ashes settling in a void of your own creation. Sitting silently asleep, I awoke to flames you'd cast from nowhere I understood, burned as I could not fathom; yet they consumed, and I was wracked by the smoke to tears which I don't think ever hit the burning floor. I staggered for weeks, with fevered plans of contigency rushing to explain, to find a way out, or to pull you back in to... to... to cool the flames in some way, to make it calm again. But the flames burned, and the plastic melted and the curtains smoldered and somehow, so quickly, all was ashes; no rebuilding.

With time, I was able to return, sift through the wreckage, to look ardently for matches, for gas, for some reason that this fire burned out of control as I slept.

I never found them.

All I ever found for fuel was the terrible loneliness of the room you'd left me in, the lure of the phoenix's rebirth mingled with the mockery of the flames&emdash; these endings are for always.

By this time I am dead to you.

You've sat through and sung at my funeral, scattered some ashes on waves and in mountain pools&emdash;so poetic. Me? I sat in the back behind the bushes and sang Magnetic Fields songs until I agreed with the words, but sang with an intensity that faded faster than I thought the drama allowed. Somehow I hadn't the energy. I watched your tears fall and saw your red eyes look up with some glimmer of sincerity, of truth, and somehow that shook the last of the ashes off, somehow that let me go. Without you knowing for certain I'd been there, I left the funeral dry-eyed.

By now you might be on your way to an unsmiling life in a small city apartment. By now you might be on your way to those same mountain pools on the rarefied heights. By now you might be looking out across a sea of placid cloudbanks on a sunrise free of lightning. Me? I'm wandering off where the lightning went. Somewhere I'm a phoenix waiting for a spark.

--Hunter Rose

Recess (for KAS)

by Aloysius

My best friend Kerryanne, laceveiled, draped in tulle and roses
and hedonistic caricature, sweeps through her blacktop entrance
Ryan and Alecia sittin¹ in a tree-ee

enunciates her magic lines, the short-syllabled speech of Dream Two,
and flings promdress stardust in the paths of marauding ghosts --
kay - eye - ess - ess - eye - enn - gee

snaps a turn and screams as some roguestreak human dares
to tear through the opening act of her rehearsal-reverie, a boy no less,
first comes love

catching my hand, tagging me back to playground-world --
distracted off her stage, Kerry flies too, chasing into ragged orbit
then comes marriage

Near the snaking arborvitae. She knows too well that electricity
flows through clasped hands and every twig of our home base retreat
then comes the baby in the baby carriage...

where he knew an alcove. Out of breath, he would lead
me there for innocent kisses amidst the prickles of waxy leaves.

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