5 Kings Row

We found our I am
in the gap between
the doing and the losing,
those days
of 5 Kings Row, we were
lost in the fright of
possibilities,
and wayward in the link
of causal conjunctions.

Those borrowed walls
and spaces,
blinked
the tremble of our deeds
and lost motion.
We found the inert instant
as the world skipped and wobbled
the trepidation from our eyes
and sweating hands.

The heat of folded crisp
nights ruffled
the staggering of our intent,
and the momentum led us
to this point of
reflection and mortification.

That summer of night,
the stream
that bubbled through us, quenched
our desire.
The babbling voices
that tangoed along tongue
and splintered thought,
raged as
we stumbled the halos
of youth,
rocketing from fresh
to weary in one burnt
summer.

The disease of knowledge
shivered our risk, numbering
our doors inside and out,
as they unlocked and locked.

Our craving ached
the new skin in mid-lust,
and our dewy hesitation was a
choice. In our pause, no bifocal
could unravel the
knots of our fate.

Only time
and the slow curing of
flesh
and moon
could light through
the murk
that boiled through our
days and dares.

Distance gulped us whole,
some, like Blair,
never tripped into time,
but fell instead to dust.

The miles of days and ground
diminish now, near the end,
but sleep does come,
ragged,
at times sharp as zeal,
others,
as smooth as a lament,

and we lull to sleep,
and in so doing,
release the world
to unfold and right
itself
from the wobble
we shook.

The causal chains
unclasp for a brief
reprieve
and release,
till the slow
curing of flesh
and we grow weary
of our I ams,
and breathe the dust
of instead,
and before sleep,
longingly drift to the
ash-covered summer
of 5 Kings Row.