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My Flying Debris


by Darryl Price


a book of 5 poem-like things I made out of silly string and shot your way when you weren't exactly looking

 "..kisses are a far better fate/than wisdom."--E.E.Cummings

Contents:
1.The Day's Thin Blue Swim-Suit
2. The One Who Needed Let In Most
3. I Don't Buy the Need
4. The Horse-Shaped Hole
5. Love Letter from the Last Elephant


The Day's Thin Blue Swim-Suit 

has once more been casually tossed aside like
a cartoon encrusted food wrapper on a worn
out irrelevant street somewhere in the soulful
west of a dream. It represents the well ordered
worlds as we want to see them, with erasable

laughable teeth. And friendly as a ghost our seabird
goes through the pockets hole by hole looking for
the meaning of its own ancient hunger. No one
tries to stop them from coming on as one easily turns 
into half a dozen. I've been standing here

before I guess. This empty feeling is an unfortunate
home I ran away from a long time
ago still out looking for your footprints. So why pretend
leaving everything to chance wasn't all about
believing in nothing? We only had a pretty 
moment alone to live in like any new song.

I'm also sure I've memorized the whole thing, weird 
bit by weird bit, by now, but I don't sing it all
the time to myself like I used to, I'll admit. Oh and 
let them walk away from the story's sad chapters if they want.
It's what they do best. They've never cared for anyone who's
 
not in their shoes. Yeah, our pretty little poetry
leak is sputtering this time in the early morning's sweet 
hours. Some part of you just becomes wide awake and
nothing ever seems to happen the same way again.
But it happens to everyone if they're somewhat
lucky in this life. The problem of course is that

no one welcomes you back from Paradise. They can
see you've been severely beaten about the head
and heart. You could use a touch of the good stuff. You
think maybe you shouldn't laugh at them as they pull
their sails closer to shore just as fast as they can. 



The One Who Needed Let In Most

“Living is easy with eyes closed/misunderstanding all you see.”—John Lennon

 

was let out, spilling all sandy-like from a dagger's

split-open money sack, and refused port entry.

Everyone pretended that this

was not an indecent gesture at

all, but merely the way of the world

in which we all must survive to live.

Nothing personal about that, why surely

you must know life's fairness by now.  All brought about because

some innocent spoiled little brat of a boy

 

with the golden catcher's mitt on his

smartly turned out wrist was also at

the front door selling homemade lemonade pops

(so cute!)so he could buy poor shell enclosed

reptiles a little more flipping

sand to perhaps lay more of their amazingly  

delicate eggs in holes in before

they're sent packing back into the big

bad sea to fend for themselves. Sharks and

 

who knows what else live out there too you know! One

has to make difficult choices and

live with the results. Children are never

easy but you kind of get used to it.

But won't each one of you reading this live just fine

with whatever results you get; won't

you? All she's ever had to win you

over with her whole life through are someone

else's mad mistakes and a twisted-on corkscrew of a 

 

smile. No cold nosed furry face full of

soft whiskers that tickle at you when she  

shuts her eyes real tight and rubs against your cheeks

like a favorite bedtime story

as you giggle down your milk. While all of us have

already known so many delights in this world.

Haven't you tasted every flavor  

Moroccan coffee bean ice cream there is? It's

secret formula having been stored under

 

your floor boards the whole time you were

growing up like a free anytime

vacation ticket to Disneyland

for you and the whole family to take at will. She's

never been thrilled by simply playing all

day long in some sunshine. Dig that, Fat Cat?

She's someone's child, while she remains a child,

and that someone is you right now because

she came to you on this summer's day.


I DON'T BUY THE NEED

 

TO ALWAYS BE BEGGING TO BE

GRANTED IMMORTALITY.  ISN'T IT ENOUGH

WE GET TO TRY OUT

 

OUR LOVE ON EACH OTHER?  SURELY MOST OF

US DON'T HAVE WHAT IT

TAKES TO KNOCK DOWN ALL

 

THOSE STACKING UP AGAINST US STARS AT ONCE WITH

JUST ONE KISS. I WAS

LUCKY YOU WANTED TO BE

 

WANTED THAT'S ALL. THANK GOD

IT WASN'T ALL PURE GREED ON MY PART. I WILL

PREFER THE PASSIONATE LIE OVER 

 

THE SICKEST TRUTH ANYWAY. THAT

PERMISSION WAS BETTER THAN ANY DANCING

IN A LOST DREAM WITH A GIRL'S ARMS AROUND ME.

 

I HOPE THIS POEM STILL

FINDS YOU ENJOYING BECOMING YOURSELF.

WHAT MORE CAN I SAY?

 

MAYBE NEXT TIME I COULD

TRY HANGING ON A LITTLE

BIT LONGER BEFORE BEING TOSSED

 

OFF THE BLINDING LIGHTS AND

HAVING TO HEAR SOMEONE ELSE

DELIVER MY LINES TO YOUR

 

PRETTY FACE. OKAY YOU CAN

GO NOW. THERE'S NOTHING ELSE

HERE FOR YOU. NOTHING LEFT. JUST AN

 

EMPTY PAGE. WHATEVER CREATURE THESE

WORDS ONCE HELD HAS LONG SINCE

GONE TO HEAVEN. YOU MOVE ALONG,TOO.



The Horse-Shaped Hole

stands softly in moon-wash 
nibbling on tufts at
the top of sleeping
day. Instantly we are

deputized astronomers bearing silent
witness. No one knows
what true colors the
animal exhibits. None care.

Shaking this great shaggy
mane back and forth
he releases an army
of tiny bright things

that begins floating toward
that orb like a
thousand naked canoes. He
lifts a hoof, the

sky flushes itself and
sequinned as any old
dancer begins to fold
upon deeper and deeper

swirls. Wings flutter within
all the invisible trees
for miles around. Nothing
winks out. Instead

everything's neatly lit by
the mere fact of
this moment like a
candle in the clouds.


Love Letter from the Last Elephant

 

We hear all the stories
coming right up out of
the dust. We see the same
sky, the same stars. We've met

our own deaths forever.
We know what's happening.
Because of this some of
us will come willingly

to have chains put around
our feet. Some others must
never be anything
but free. This way they can

still lead with their hearts. We
cannot save us. You could
not save yours either as
he was bleached and became

a ghost. There is little
time for this conversation
before the planet
can no longer pronounce

our names correctly. Then
there will be no one to
call us home again by
trumpet or full foot stomp.

It may sound funny to
you but we have tasted
the rain, flowers, grass;
it tastes right, we believe.


Bonus Poems:

In Memory of Lily Burk 


I don't know what they want. Anything you give them will never do. Most fear pain because they cause it. Hate happens over and

over. As if they have two nostrils but no real experience of air. This is beyond sad belief. The apple hits the ground no matter how

many times you drop it. They've failed to connect this in their brains and so are heartless like zombies who want but cannot produce life. Instead

they attack a young girl on an errand for her mother and force her to die like a butterfly pinned to the dirty wheel of sensation.

And for what? To get close to the moon? To lay their heads upon the liar's tongue? Apples tremble on tiny stems. Oh Love get here first.

 

 


You Can't Continue


to love him and not

love me. It will never

be true. Love doesn't

run out. It's never

empty. If anything

it constantly

renews itself

with whatever air

exists. That's why it

can't be captured or

imprisoned. The body

is not the essence.

Freedom is the

essence. You can say you

understand, but

in the back of your

mind you're just getting

started doubting everything.

This causes

love to wait. If it

waits long enough you

will be dead. Let's put

it another way.

The ancient ones spoke

of love as invisible

cities perched

on a hill under

a mushroom sun. The

people were calling

out names but our feet

were dumb and followed

a different path

leading around the

city walls. Angels

blasted their trumpets

in our ears and still

we sang our own songs

in a deafening

wail. Their tears were met

with scorn and arrows

and broken rocks. Who

could blame them for lifting

the whole thing off

the earth? Sometimes it

floats between the light

and dark like a foaming

ribbon, and sometimes

it spins above

our heads in an endless

swirl of stars. And

sometimes it holds itself

right between our

two hands and pretends

to sleep. That's its birth

right. Please. Say love's name.

 

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