Saturday, September 8, 2007
Many-Splendored Drips of Paint
Drips of paint applied liberally
in skeins of mosaic twilight,
like the stars peeking out
at the last ray of the sun.
They smirk their bright pinpoint
five-billion-year-old cosmic grin,
"I told you so..."
You light a smoke
salute them in one finger fashion
they laugh and cry and make stories
from the chaos and insanity,
drips of paint like stardust thrown
to the winds hope springs eternal
through the motions of the ritual.
You laugh and they match you--
four billion years ago they did,
just now catching up,
and you capture their essence
in smatterfied psychedellic freckles,
stars looming in an otherwise
once more brown-eyed sky
falling in love with you...
That's nothing new...
...like nothing under the sun.
But drips of paint
flying higher than god to rest
where you tell them to--
most of the time they listen,
and you listen too,
loving their every hint
billions of years in the making.
could've used a few good women...
or one chain-smokin' hippie.
But he loafed on the job
for a few billion years;
thought ribs-turned-ladies worked,
when all he needed was under
the apple tree slithering to victory
and a separate piece of the pie.
Now it's make believe
and catch-up time,
all in one galaxy made from
drips of paint shimmering
like the most heavenly of jewels
making many a splendored night
exactly what you say it is.