Parrot the Poet.

Friend and I commenting on another friend's Facebook status. My replies:

Black Knights found in the stars
above the wars fought for maidens' hands
across the desert's plain, deserted sands.
It's just a word - four letters long
and the meaning moves along
with every step
Black Knight takes
and every heart
that Black Knight breaks...
But it's still just a word, and you bend it
to our will
because inside us still
we hear the beating of a single heart
inside these walls
we've yet to part
and fall away into the sky...
We made this love,
you and I.


A touch of stars to the burned down
the crown of bloodied thorns
across a brow
a man laid low -
to raise us up, you up
into the stars
it's only wars, up there
it's only more, up there
it's only gorgeous, up there
and who knows it better than a star
like you
touched down from afar
planet somewhere out there
without knowledge of despair
and heartbreak
dreams unmake themselves on earth
but the planet of your birth
sings songs of sanity
and so pretty soon
so sings the moon
and all the stars above
they call the words,
down to the birds
who herald the dawn
with love.


You're a prism -
maybe light in a prison
split into a myriad of colors
reflecting into waters that were calm
once upon a time.
Once upon a rhyme
maybe thyme when I'm cooking up a recipe
that includes you being there
when you're really here
inside my mind running circles
like you knew the track wouldn't end
and couldn't bring yourself to stop
anyway.
Some other day you'll stop by a sign
and repaint it red
say it wasn't dark enough
or high enough
or fly enough
to care.
From here to here to there
and sometimes now it sings
the way the morning does when you're here.
Or there, or everywhere I am.


We're a masterpiece, bent and broken
snapped and spoken for
by the same Knight who made the Night before.
Black Knight comes and
Black Knight calls and
Black Knight's breaking down the walls
that you've put up and which you told me
were breech-less, speechless -
maybe only therapy.


Just fair warning -
god hits back.
The plague that struck Egypt
was just good old jealousy
maybe hypocrisy
and idiosyncrasy building
what buildings tear down nowadays
in the ways of the forefathers
the four fathers
that fathered a youth
uncouth and untrained and unrestrained
so filled with what we term passion
that they forgot the future
as they looked to the past.
Only when they saw the now again
did they lie again
to the last
thank god, thank god,
we're dead at last.
Like love is a plague and the dogs are drunk
baying at the moon again
it's soon again
we hear the loons again
calling on the lake.
Under that moon again,
just you, again...
Just you and me...
And then.


It's only destruction if it isn't creation
and the station is set to nine-sans-two.
It's just me, without you
when you aren't there
and I care - or I cared -
once upon a time, but that's just fantasy now
and if I had a dime
for every look you gave me
that meant something almost true
I'd have no change
because that's not in you.
Or me, if it comes down to it.
This is hallucinogens
done in sanskrit
a transcript of a work we both forgot
it's only rock and wears
the tears of an age away from sanity
and vanity
to expand itty-bitty spiders
going up the water spouts -
down came the dregs of life
and forced the spiders out.
It's like life, moved over again,
singing clover again,
in Dover again like before the war.
Oh...the war.
I've told you this, haven't I?
Maybe from before I remembered
you don't care.


And just later,
maybe I'll shine my eyes
and go up to ask you
if you'll kiss me concrete
the way you wouldn't
when we were discreet
and the streets were humming
with the pounding of blood
in the months before
we both knew you should.
Or shouldn't.
But that's still just once upon the air
neither here
nor there
nor anywhere really.
I'm just truly, madly, deeply
drowning in the ocean
because the water's frozen
it's only a commotion
when the desert's overflowing.