(a glimpse: how the world presents itself to Me)
The sky, She is my girlfriend, tonight.
The scar the Airman draws across her cheek,
it fades, it fades; she heals
With time, with age
The crisp lines blur; eye, cheek, nose
buried in a rough, tilled-like bank.
The dawn's light falls,
a wave .
It's nothing; She was never there, but
what I saw in the face of my girlfriend
who was never there- the stuff that buried
Her is blanketing the heavens;
-the sun cannot be seen.
That Lady in Pasadena
That Lady in Pasadena
say my face look like the image of
the Buddha
while
the curl at the tip of her hair
touch the small o' her
back
an' She looked into the looking glass
of her headboard
and lip curved toward the
skylight opened up to
this city's night
while a swollen cloud sank
into the risen moon
of Pasadena
words on paper
made to clean with
In days, weeks , or months
it will occur- the reality
seeming - all to often
referred to as settling ,
that simple mistakenly
subtle or small difference -
when actually the situation
will create in You a reality
and that reality will seep
out of You, synthesized in
You and emanating a readable,
noticable , undeniable being-
ness.
Some may notice the smell.
Some may notice how You
appear.
some, some, some - but
what about You?
You're still talking, and
listening to yourself.
If I wrote Your You,
what would You say?
This style or content (are these
separatable) is it defunct?
-- no one is thinking
Is it America? or the time?
Ask someone: why do You
do it that way:
I should have written
about coffee and laugh-
ing and the coming of age
of the Girl who grows to
say "NO" and asks for what
She wants - except in a
farcical way that
elucidates that it isn't any-
thing heroic or chosen - simply
coming of age
Edward Wells II is a writer. He is living in the United States of America at the moment.
Read more work from Edward Wells II.
