Part 4
Would you, oh could you, come with me?
Only if you have a dress with blueberries on it.
Only then.
When you go out to find the one to live with forever
would you, oh could you,
wear the dress with the blueberries on it.
When you go out for the last time in the world
would you, oh could you,
wear the dress with blueberries on it.
She had on the dress with blueberries on it. so fine.
And he had her perfume on his skin,
and the moonlight burns my cheek again.
Wouldn't it be nice?
Simple as that.
and the moonlight burns my cheek again.
She had on the dress with blueberries on it,
And he had her perfume on his skin.
I've always wanted mermaids,
but they've all died.
I can remember when certain key friends were alive.
I can hear one telling me about moving to Alaska - a land boom.
Then he remembered something about someone
we both knew smashing up in a sports car.
Another friend of mine played the Irish harp.
Then he played synthesizer.
Then he died of l*.
I could have been a better friend than I was.
I left town determined to destroy my life in my own way.
Its a done deal (8).
Its a Bad Quiet.
All of you who must, go to hell now,
the rest, I have no advice.
So leave me alone - you don't know me.
lyrics -rain.
white fog on the pathway to the garden.
(wallpaper along the passageway is "fleur-de-lis"
and intertwined ribbons)
a fountain jet supports a hat of burning candles.
Happy event.
Oh Happy event.
Photographs. Friends. Romance. Cutting momemts.
I remember what has burned deep
and I would give it all to you as a present.
I hope you have half as many such moments.
My most precious possessions are my 1007 Beads of Experience.
I wear them on special occassions.
In each is a tiny reflection - faces and moments.
If you look carefully into them you might live Forever.
There is more that I would say.
I am thinking of days no one will ever know.
If it is one time only,
let it be far away,
big snowflakes drifting down
blowing endlessly in all directions.
Out on the wild grasslands
I am you.
I did not come to know you just to learn,
one more time, the relentless facts of "parting".
If you were to leave your beautiful rhythm would be
beyond my hands.
Your black eyes hesitate like twilight where luck and favor may meet.
Your smile reminds me,
like a tiny bell I meant to give you
as a present,
of something I don't know yet.
But I already gave away that bell - I didn't think you needed it
(I didn't think you were coming back)
I would have liked to have seen you come down a stairway
two centuries ago in a gown no one would ever wear these days.
If I have my way there will be costume parties
for days and nights,
and when the Good Angel strikes me with a road
someone else's perfume from the endless afternoon
will be sweet on my skin.
You see, here,
it's always Lilac Time...
I wasn't supposed to tell you that
but there, its done.
To play at love seemed like a stupid and dangerous idea
so it appealed to me.
One more diversion from the relentless fact of needing a home.
I always think there will be time to get things right.
there will be time to save our lives.
In the mean time
go down to the town and get a bottle of wine
go kiss the sultans daughter in her fragrant orchard
listen to her murmur in another language
no barriers on crossing into each others thought
no plans
no future
repeating the eternal
once more
one more knowing of what "this" is
in the passage of whatever "this" is.
Its part of the high-speed stupidity I'm so good at.
Some say there are shadows sapping our fineness and our innocent trust
Some say they will waste you and wither you
while the blur flies by your eyes, made strangely quiet and resigned.
I used to have scorn for those who said they were *tired*.
Now I am tired.
The readiness like a raw hand held out to receive
whatever occasional flake of holiness
able to cool our overheated reason.
I didn't want to tell you,
but it will be worse than now.
Things don't rise up gracefully,
they just descend,
such a strange pathway down.
Maybe you can learn to live in the Waiting Place.
Maybe you can discover something *unexpected*.
This is an age of Diminishment
and I am only one in the Disloyal Opposition
and I have no influence on the Collective Memory.
You see, most of what we call *EveryThing*
never really happened.
Just like the maid of the Maze
you and your harlequin stockings and your split black skirt.
When we play at love health is a lesser priority.
This used to mean explorations of velocity over the dark roads
under skies streaming with stars.
It used to mean shouting words and phrases as they came to mind
and dressing in unusual costumes,
and turning on the stereo and two radios all at once
and dancing in the Storm.
Now there is a letter on the little table where you used
to lay your keys or your bracelet.
It says:
"I'm better now and I send warm waning kisses"
Below in the garden
the future masquerades as paradise.
Dear childhood,
please don't come this way again.
We fail one another.
Sometimes one. Sometimes the other.
Mainly both.
We fail although we are angels
and kiss the azure bricks of the sky,
our faces surrounded by all the glowing light
in the world.
That we live without crippling regret
makes me think our hearts have turned to stone.
Mountains.
( I overhear)
A womans voice talks about contentment
and the best estimate of our good will.
To the extent that there are wild places
covered with pines and fir trees
and filled solid with clear cold air
there is a guide to our way Out.
I stand by the tent.
The fire makes un-moon-like light and the sky is an open dome.
It is a pleasure to listen to conversations,
a pleasure to feel the warm old stone of the walls,
a pleasure to see the henna-haired waitresses
here in the marketplace
on the last evening of the World.
Rehearsals for The love of Stories have paid off.
The One we find out about
by the collection of beads that we string through our lives
with needle and skin
I have always had plans for Lilac Time,
and I don't like false memories.
I want to touch the ground and make a pine tree there.
I want to touch someones face
and see everything everywhere always.
If there is one time only
let it be here standing in the slowly falling snow.
Everyone clamoring to climb above the others
lunging and stepping on shoulders and faces
for recognition or money
or a hundred other useless things.
Me, I'm just sitting on the floor trying
to amuse myself with pretty picture games
while every goal and thing of value
turns ridiculous.
All I want is an honorable way out.
I don't even care about being in anyone's memory.
Just get me out.
I should have remained silent.
I embarassed you I'm certain.
I did think that maybe I had missed a message.
What choice did I have when I didn't receive any email and there were
difficulties with receiving anything at all.
I am seeing things like never before.
I am finding that my mother wants to become a baby.
I am finding that my sister wants to pretend that she has nothing to
do with any responsibility.
It is a terrible time - and it has nothing to do with you.
I can imagine that at such a time I might have to take up
defense of someting very dear and valuable but but that I am so
filled with close sorrow that I cannot lift a spoon.
It may be better for the human race that men like me are killed off
by our inferiors.
The time is not right for us yet, if ever it will be - I laugh
out loud for the first time in days...
Whatever great purpose we could serve is inconceivable now
and perhaps just a remnant of a long dead past.
Please talk to me as if you didn't really understand
what I said, and please welcome me as if I might matter to you.
Please tell me where is your dream as I climb into your stable
at dawn. I want to know your story and your reluctance to tell me
everything even as your mouth turns in a dream toward acceptance
of some impossible idea that I will never be for you.
Please run down some breakfast if you want, for us both,
however - I don't need to eat, to sleep, to fall certain,
I only come to serve you, as the blind come to touch the
garments of travellers., so confident and so unaware of age and death.
Why would one love a lovely red haired girl?
Why would such a girl hide in pride a wisdom she should
give easily - is this a fault, or is this an indifference?
I would gladly discuss this with you my love but
I have no left hand as it has no real purpose,
it has lost circulation and lays limp now,
it might better be described as haing been abandoned by my will,
and my right hand has gone to find it's true master elsewhere,
it's zeal has migrated like the sad geese calling to eavh other,
again and again.
and it is as if amidst the sad cries I must defend my useless life
against a quite justified allegation of neglet and abandonment.
So after all is said and done, tomorrow I will visit your clothing
with the sound of a whisper, happy to slide along your skin and those
wonderful scented garments I always found like treasure after the long
introductions of the words and desires of the mouth.
Let me inject the deserving then...
throat and hand - holding out the cold
excuse of a piece of bread - a note, that says
come back when I think kindness is more important
than some form of what you call 'knowledge.'
We will talk and eventually we will die.
Others (our relatives will raise our heads to
receive a drop of water even as we speak...
we will say come here again with the same kindness
you gave and you will sail through death unnoticing)