Friday Night at Brian's (Part 2)
into the cocoon, through doors
opening to painless communication
with those who, always there, talk of aeons ...
unthinkingly intimate wanderings together
parallels apart.
No
need now to explore wonderingly,
intricacies of deconstruction.
No urgent rejection of lost, abnegated bliss.
No revengeful denial.
No hearty journeyings through desert landscapes,
visiting the fear of death.
No. No thing to prove.
No one to be.
No truths to affirm
in scrupulous self-condemnation.
No hard-earned currency for the meticulous memory banka softening of the heart ...
quiet transfigured strains, achingly fragile,
overwhelmingly vulnerable,
swelling in lovethe wheat is high today.
to
p & b, in love August 2000
The
poem builds on one written by Peter Burton: link
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