i have come for you

i have come for you
i am here to hold your hand
you called to me in quiet dreams
and longings
and i have come.
i will calm you through storms and earthquakes,
Rest you when you tire.
i will feed you energy and apples.
i will make music for your private dances.
i will weave stories for sleeping and paint dreams
on your soul. i have come for you.
Where there is emptiness, i will
craft miracles to fill you. i will dust the cobwebs
and clear you skies. i will green your garden and
plant flowers in the clouds that don't go away.
i'll bring as much peace as you allow.

There will be times when my medicine bags are empty,
or the fairies leave my side,
but all the tools i have are yours.
Sometimes, i will need you.
Always, i will love you.
You called to me from restless wanderings.
i am here to hold your hand.

straw buried fiends forever

spiraling over the edge of uncertainty into the cognizance of nothingness,
i grab at hallucinated straws
hoping for the short one, signifying a trip back to the familiar.
whispering winds electrify my hair
so dreads whip wildly in my eyes
and i can't reach a single straw.
there's got to be a sense in this post-post modern anti-aesthetic
of revitalized tenements and reclaimed Reconstruction-era residential tracts.
the mathematics are backward: frustration and nihilism are adding up to hope.
strange, huh?
but that's ideal, and ideals need more substance than abstraction.
so we push on, hunting for fulfilling matter
and touchstones and mile markers, praying against remaining lost.
but we know where we are, it's just not the nicest neck of the universe
and the butterflies have teeth and stingers and randomly bad attitudes.
Apparently, Mother Nature is entering menopause
and her hot flashes will make creek-fish stew / got a spoon?

but this is about straws and the vagaries of capricious Shakespearean chance.
this is more than a string of allusions to other internalized personalities.
this is about five elements and a question mark.
but nobody's answering inquiries w/o promises of amnesty,
or freedom from kenneth starr.
should you toss a coin?
but there's another question mark and the public defender just ran off
w/my portfolio and two nice bottles of tequila to dance w/that stripper
from new orleans
the defender is sipping my tequila w/one of those straws i've been coveting
like my neighbor's wife's ass. somehow, that's not a sin.
but this confusion of temperament and tempura is because my ulcers
are ignoring H. pylori bacteria levels in spite of what the doctors said.

life is mimicking a three-ring circus affair, complete with gaudy tents
and tooth-hanging, scantily clad women who are dynastic in their art.
but circuses have hay, and hay has straw but straw is still what's missing,
so i just get elephant shit on my sandals and little hope for redemption.

if joy cometh in the morning, i hope she's already masturbating,
because it's three minutes 'til dawn.

all contents copyright 1994-2001 rufus fulton young/vernacunappy ink