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VESPERA
06:07 Dec 27 2006
Times Read: 1,896

(If you'd like to hear this piece, please click the link. The words are mine; LiquidSaint wrote the music and performs it.)



Vespera







Recognition in your eyes, yet still you come

Walking up my stairs, smelling of Church.

Steeped in beeswax, incense, relics, and crucifixes,

I am even taken by the scuff on the toe of your shoe.

My senses ache, sampling you, a rising martyr.



I will erase the scribe's scrawl on your features.

Christianized, bastardized. Restored to narrative epic

You will be on my pagan lips. My name on your flesh.

The stroke of my blade slanted...looping and trailing,

Handwritten, imparting both purpose and desire.



Your fingertips brush a whispered rasp along the rail,

Eyes lifted in prayer, finding solace in my promise

To receive your offering. A step and two, ever closer

In supplicant ascent to your Savior, night's Confessor.

Faithful pleas, sorrow for the morrow, I will succor you.



Cloistered in the dark folds of evening's finest cloak,

The Sacrament begins, as your vows become vespers,

Simple in their earnest cries of "please" and "please."

Bleed for the bridegroom your very breath, panting

A new Pater Noster as I drink from this cup.



In memory of you

Unforesaken

Lover, in my arms

At last,

World without end.

Summer Showers
03:58 Dec 10 2006
Times Read: 1,966

A simple summer shower…Cool droplets. Clean air. Blessings of brevity.

To be in a summer shower is to be alive, fully awake, if but for minutes.

Stretching and stretching,

Hands slipping against an unyielding rock face,

Shaking off mortality and flying. Soaring in the infinite clarity of a second.





They are personal, knowing your name and the curves of your body

As their fingers trace your cheeks and soak even through your clothing,

Searching for flesh in their familiarity.

Singing of ripe wisdom, offering a quickening of the spirit; oh, no Odysseus be.

Blind sirens, starving, thirsting to know and possess you.





Yes, possession…Mysteries that bedevil while the sun shines warmly upon you in clear approval.

Curtained from your fellow man, you are in the favor of ancient intrigue,

Honored and chosen.

Close your eyes and hear the songs of those before you echoing the halls.

Poets, explorers, men of science, leaders. The elite.





Don’t steer your ship from the rocks, but crash headlong into the jagged allure.

Challenge your mind, every sense and nerve ending to awaken!

Open your eyes and see the intensity of rain.

Each drop charged to bend the sunlight. Anonymous armies of prisms falling like arrows

Toward you . Throw down your shield and surrender.





Rainwear and umbrellas - like bucklers to hot metal, barely a resistance. Have none of it!

Naked and exposed as you were designed, you alone will see what the sleeping cannot suspect.

It is even shut from their dreams. When fallen, crashed just low enough,

It is possible to see the arc of a rainbow against the horizon.

But to die to your self for a moment, opening your arms to the dizzying fall,





Pushed from the cliff by a summer shower,

This is to see the full circle of that rainbow continuing

Through the solid ground of the earth,

Forever connected,

Arc to arc.

The Shadows of Ullambana
07:31 Dec 04 2006
Times Read: 2,006









Only Xinjiang sings to my soul,

Does a DunHuang ribbon dance down the Silk Road

Where Tao meets now and Chinese hearts cannot pray,

Spiriting me forth to the kill of the day.



Taoist-wreathed in incensed prayers of cure,

I empty to all but hunger and succumb to the market’s allure,

Savoring the perfume of eastern desperation:

Commerce, tourism, fishes, flies, and perspiration.



Heady is the hunt in a wilderness of carts

Selling silks and slippers, clay figures, and hopeless human hearts.

I cross a sea of fear and want that fires my desire and quickens the pace.

And here she crouches, Xiaofan, scarlet-laced and plain of face.



Grandmother egg vendor, careful not to see,

Wipes her table and hangs a pakua talisman casually.

Beneath the poster dictum, 'respect order, do not embrace chaos,' in the open market there

I take her, unchampioned little Xiaofan, but a moment in my care.



Common of countenance and average of aspect,

An oblate offering who gave me no pause to reflect

As I brushed aside the shining braid and tore apart her ch’i-p’ao gown

To tear her more, baptize my lusts, my needs…and drink her down.