the abandonment [rise]

clash flesh against flash to sound that trebly roar from the palms of our hands to the high domed sky and look to the others who share our joy our tears our confusion our heart that cranks a rapid pace and plays the bass for the choir that plays reprise and pays the coin to feed the empty hand

and:

could he truly dare to speak those words as though they commence some completed thought that here amongst our several minds there lives some sincere  divide [divine] [refined] (rewind replay the tragic the fun the happy the longing the one) single perfect model of life that wraps so happy around these words that state themselves in reference books //we're false we lie we could not care how truth defines our name\\ and yet we give we still respond we file : one by one : to have our thoughts they're borrowed they're sold they're lost amongst the varnished revolve that spins it grows it idles it throws these phrases to our jaws that click and break and love and wait and spit and drink the stew

now:

rise frail friends from your wooden chairs back the way you came from seperate parts of seperate worlds that never asked nor begged nor hoped that never breed the same replies that never care for this the greatest lie the sanest truth the roof the floor the wall the wall the wall the stage

and:

its a fair fury that held our hopes for all these years in fresh fingers in boney prose how could ever we truly give our simple souls to the crystal loom and drape the garment that ravels out upon our square set shoulder blades or bite the cloth and tear the ends and treat our pouring wounds

-and the empty stage to the empty pews-

..you left me as i left you..

here on the streets in the failing light the bodies bereft of mind make feigned attempts to resume the dance the one that filled the stage that filled the limbs of the puppet muse and dazzled the hungry eyes

make me the same i want no more to have this empty hope

~we cried~

it was me that hooked my pretty hands to the hanging silken thread

and all the same though many plees you layed towards my callous resolve you knew the script you brought it in -you wrote it one dull summer eve- did not you know that once you penned those words that clash so false too soon those words that clamour so eagre so true to romantic dreams you wrote the words and so did i the ones that follow the rhyme and tear from structure some timely demise and give to verse a well deserved . long awaited . betraying . hated . inevitable . happily stated and never denied final eternal demise.

it was expected by sheer design

you always knew and so did i

the words that wait

-before the ticket was stamped-

before even the paper stained

that ink drenched opening line

rend it from your frosty lips

please wrap your tongue around the sting

and i promise to do the same

dear

sweet

friend

utter that demanding line

though happy

though sad 

the end.

...but we have yet our names to sign... 

the abandonment [no more roses]

no more roses they said and felt significantly it must be so no more roses to sow or sell or make spells and cast reverently into the skies no more roses they said and felt utterly so that this must be the last of the straws at the bottom of the cask no more roses they asked

not even for a coat to wrap around my chilly bones and cleave fretfully behind the roads not one they asked not even a petal to make a bed not even a thorn to make a train to ride away from the snow no more roses not even a stem to set hopefully in this glass not even one nor should ever we cry or dream or hope

to rend them from the tomes that these flowers once so honestly frozen and callously held between fickle fingers shallow yet true and feel even outwards grasp blindly sincerely and clasp and dream of roses

 in fields and sheets and oceans of red and yellow and oh so many facets of those gentle haloed friends those lost those lamented those longed for oh so yearned so needed so pleaded

they there on the steps out on the bitter street never sweet not any more for no more roses cascade no more roses remain no more roses pour ambitiously out from the fettered dew drenched roads and wish on delicious lips on wetted waiting whispering lips skip out these words of plea that never would these unfortunate fools ever for even one moment have even ever believed that for even ever not even one more moment could there be not nearly even one trace one trickle one sweet scented sumptuous red alluring rose.

"??no more roses??"

they asked

and scoffed

and left

and rose.

The Death [and the glass]

when this world no longer turns but hangs dim in some other sky

when stories are mute and none promise ever to spin out from lapping tongues

these forms once draped in cotton and gold

(and rotten and mold)

now forgotten now old

(now cold, un-told, sold, the saddest most tantalizing ode)

collide.

amidst frozen stars these two again for one last time stretch out arms towards one another remembering fondly those awful crimes and stroking firm wounds matching maligned they dance that fabled dance and grasp from the universe some practiced  design and make a score a thousand times performed once more once more some sweetness burns some kind old phrase hanging delicately out on the edges of time remind these pieces these heroes these fiends that there must in some perfect mind be a perfect version of a perfect prize and then their fingers let slip their grip but not with horror nor with glee nor pride but with honesty for once this time with truth with hope with grace replace that false design with just a smile a simple sign from one edge of the empty divde to the opposite side of endless time two massive spheres of absolute each as grand as the other press together and for once after all this time say good-bye.

.gather round this priceless scene yes drink in this final turn for no reprise for this dancing pair will rend itself from the archive.

~look across the divide~

The Death [and the longing]

..............................


when once blue skies lingered over the bay where war ships lay prone silent still no whispers wait pregnant in their bows the sailors sleep soundly in the gentl breeze {drifting in from subtle seas} and on their finger tips bring dreams of fantastic unity and each is foolish and happily unsaid those fears those regrets not here not yet "on some foreign shores let them rest"





-and for just now sing-



simple melodies and think never so long of the final song rumbling slow deep on distant horizon on some other page yet crave so sweetly that unhappy dirge as well you know this tonal love:



a single pipe and just one drum



beats a simple score



[a theme familiar]

that begs the orchestra to join in harmonic praise for well [too well] we know these clouds>>>>



Help me now erect this pole and capture the storms

how i miss them so... ... ...





[and so together we dug the foundation and grasped the high metal pole and set firm in silver sands a beacon of our despair]





the ferrel clouds errant above the oceans glistening field have but one thought in mind at any given time and from over the edge of the earths unforgiving rocky fascade


where rivers end



where seas fall



::where ocean drifts to eternity::





these black clouds wrench up their tired husks and fought the falling torrent and now launch into the sky
               {the angel's tragic home}

hungry

...

The Twin's Reunion

take to your comfy seat again and know you have no options left but to smile laugh clap and scream at the empty stage [enter ghosts left]

the pin rests heavy at some intersection where this line crosses that and its great arch passes over nimble tides and scratches curved lines on colored sheets fingers crossed it mumbles to itself as it draws this new line far far and further still from womb and onwards still and no rest fortune favors only the wretch and muses in their jellous dance think our scribbles inane and useless hearts chained //rattle rattle// in a length unknown lost long ago their wanton desires lost long ago their free empires their crowns their sceptres their fame and traded in for empty bowls eat well fools eat well for your roles demand reprise.

>>is there supposed to be some beauty here in perfect circles or lesser lines playing completed degrees for i fail to see what glory shines from that going nowhere coming back going forth coming back<<

and of no concern and of no return and yet pick up this pen as though thrown in anger and continue this broken prose it matters to non who writes theses lines it matters less who reads and who dictates sermon or prayer and how well the audience hear at the back they sleep at the sides they love at the front they long to play and rush forth from out the stands taking to the stage and plays this man a frightened king and plays this fool a happy clown and plays these friends the chorus dance

}we purchased a script before we came as we felt certain we'd have this chance to show our lovely teeth and watch closely as we lift our skirts{

::its clear this line made promises to itself that it would wander wherever it would and in some strange way it kept this promise but it appears it was never to itself for it finds that whilst it dallied and traced new curves and escaped that awful spin its anchor weighed too heavy its centre itself the pin::

and the audience reliquish the stage and the twins resume their role and from the skies the backdrop falls and the ovation raised from within and this the monologue and then the reply and this the duologue then

.you.is.the.same.as.i.