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Snow and snow and snow and snow and snow and snow and snow


by Darryl Price


 

 

A tough enough signal to read under the best of meteoric circumstances, this is one maybe I'll keep on thinking about.

I might be able to make something everlasting out

 

of this crazy price for love after all. I no longer mind the bruises. Life shambles forth and falls flatly

forward only sometimes. The cold light of day, it isn't so much a

 

fist inside your head any more. If anything it's the same

handicapped note you weren't missing when you weren't that

 

aware you were missing any musical heritage of birdsong at all. I

simply meant to deliver it a long long time ago now.

 

My horse was shot out from under me on the one and only available wooden

bridge home. I sure miss that horse. I've tried rolling the whole message over and

 

up again into one of those sparkling orbs and flicking it away, or bowling it with real muster 

among the pine like stars like a hazy memory on fire. I guess

 

I've messed up something pretty good now, that's for quite sure, but it wasn't

enough to change the nature of my own free floating clouds for you all to see. I tried

 

to bow low enough then open the cage door of my tricked out top hat, for instance,

but no misconceived dove dreamed of  its sudden freedom

 

in that emptying emerging space below. I can't believe

I had that much shit written down. Most of the words I know have come

 

back to me now one way or the other. Some drenched in mud,

some covered in fallen ash, but most just limping

 

silently back into my shirt pocket. I guess

you can't pretend to have made the mail delivery

 

if there's nobody home in a world of sad

constellations. I'm still walking towards that narrow escape hatch alone

 

at which time I'll hand over the bleeding letters I promised at

last and be somewhat free from the thought of you, but if I don't make it,

 

at least you'll know I tried. Everything else is moondust on the carpet.

Only the moon considers there's any other way to go home again.




Bonus poem:



I'd Rather Write You That Kiss


by Darryl Price


that reminds you of our loss

of us. It is what it is.

I don't know if you meant  to

harm the world. I only know

I don't want to harm anything ever

anymore. Besides we've

already suffered life enough.

 

The parts blown out of our

hearts can never be retrieved.

But these holes aren't meant to be

our homes forever. There must

be a new place built where the

walls are trusted again to

protect us from ourselves when

 

we are feeling angry or

sad or acting stupid. Where

peace is structured into the

ribs like a firm enough handshake. Where

the floors are forgiving and

able to withstand a good

amount of wild dancing. Where you

 

and you can give each other

the space to grow and heal together

in this world. Where all

are treated fair and kindness

is always to be found in

one's singing voice. Thank you for

the grace of your acceptance.

 

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