sometimes i think I've died
sometimes i think I've died and gone to heaven.
i am resurrecting cliches while they became trite;
nights with a sliver slice of moon deserve
to be recognized, swooned, adored in prayer,
and i hear the music of an angel everywhere,
the stroking of piano keys on wings
with passionate phrasings that sing --
the idealized rationalization
of the Disease called Love;
the realization that even feeling
we won't survive.
it will bury us
and set us free in fury!
i am at the station!
hurry! hurry! come
sometimes i think I've died and gone to heaven
while the syncopated rhythms chime a dissonant yes,
his voice a blessing obsessed, his harmony with himself
a succulent rhyme, his crime, theft of
my heart, arresting it in between beats --
and it is a sweet 1:41PM - God is on his throne
and we don't need a metronome
to set the Time straight.
we're ten minutes fast or behind Late on every clock
this is home. we are home and the eyes have a lock
on this place, a lavish reservoir of peace,
all struggles having ceased.
he is a great teacher,
a master of presentation,
his elation a gift of air
to inhale. he is a gale,
a wind, a storm enLightning.
sometimes i think i've died and gone to heaven,
the leaven of the bread of Love, my feast, the Peace
of hands held ringed, exchanged, reflected
from the hiding behind mirrors.