Oh You Pretty Things....

Paradigm ShiftEmerging flash of starlight pap
between sunset and ocean cap
colliding spang into my eyes
for once to have me realize
not everything becomes a song,
and I shall sleep before too long. Toe ShoesDancers have such
ugly feet
I say as I pull off the slippers -
ribbons locking in a noose.
I slide off the nylon -
the black leotard
and tights
with no mercy
in their threads.
My toes are savaged children,
pink skin blinking,
blisters like tiny islands.
Muscles turn away -
my calves burning
and my thighs
tightening like a road
across the skin
are left to breathe
and unravel
in the cold room.:thumb417730198::thumb467071086: Iceboundmore infinite than
space are memories made
blind in moonlight
moon-caressed water
trembles beneath the touch of
dawn's first breath
cold morning
camouflage of ice,
the waves' sigh
a flourish
of snow cradles dawn,
the ice solidifies
one hesitant step
leads a man's wanderlust thoughts
to something lost
harsh sunlight echoes
upon the waters shore. her
breath lingers no more. smile.Calm grey waters lapping at the edges,
Cool silk flowing on a gentle breeze,
The gentle dusk closing the searing day.
I sense a darkness within you,
A darkness that knows no bounds,
An innocent darkness that paws for attention,
Curious and staring out through your eyes,
And it stares through mine.
A ripple, a splash, a sudden surge of whispers,
Fluttering low silently with building strength,
The first ray of light in the dawn of time,
Blinding me with the rawness of it.
Both the predator and the prey,
Trapped in our own snares,
A deep instinctual knowing,
Yet such fear, so much fear.
Eyes open wide and watching,
Legs strong and ready to run,
Heart thundering in my ears,
And the most uncontrollable smile…:thumb466895192: 1:10Glacier-fed, you could have been
my final destination
an early grave waiting
to swallow me up.
I got caught in your rapids,
your eddies, your current,
like a cold electrocution
that had me hyperventilating:
asphyxiating on nothing
but air.
But I fought the Reaper
in your waters,
scratched and clawed
for blood, for purchase,
grasping
for dear life
with fingers stiff
and cold
from premature
rigor mortis.
And as hypothermia chased me
downstream: a piranha
or a shark
smelling blood,
you taught me a lesson
in self-preservation,
and the mindless struggle
to survive. Else.I feel Else from the flesh
that I show this world,
Yes,
I am in the notes
I send forth to echo
tirelessly,
to dance
effortlessly
with archaic trees
and auditorium walls.
I am in the
conflicting,
predicting poetry
amassing in a folder
collecting dust
within these walls,
I am in the shaky,
lead-snapping letters
I never send,
writ in pencil
so the thoughts
and the divide
feel less permanent.
Endlessly,
I tinker and toil
in a thoughts' hostel
housing cruel and beautiful things
to which only I hold a key.
I am in each embrace
and every kiss
I've shared
long after our bodies
have untangled.
With these words,
I chip away at myself
to find a Self. :thumb318563850: sirennight strolls in
straight off the bus of that cloudless summer day
dressed in the colors of a magenta sunset
she moves languidly across the landscape
the perfume of a million southern honeysuckles
follows her wake
her dark skirts sweep over the horizon
glittering with the rhinestones of distant stars
a somnolent moon looks on
lulled by a cicada choir
and seduced by velvet darkness
he falls across the sky
in a drunken dance
till she leaves him on the bench of dawn
as the streetlights go out:thumb467299375: To Entwinefind the deep places
 in this and every
            universe
bottom out
 where words
   cannot reach, describe
   or even begin
where language loses
   all function and weight
   to void and vacuum
breath and sound
           are sacred
reserved for only
  the screams   of life
  entering and leaving
these skies
 highways dense
 packed for crashing
we swerve-    drawing
      for time's attention
if only to buy
 one more breath
 one last look
         
while life below
  builds, centers gods
             up on axis
 this womb and portal
 shakes contracts
in such a tragic
and beautiful
     exchange, curse
to entwine such gift
  and sacrifice
such a savagely
  soft pull, tearing us
from water
earth
and sky:thumb467398205: Bitlets 86Ask me
why I don't want justice
and I could tell you
that I committed my first felony
and last misdemeanor at age twelve.
Ask me
who the
door-
to
-door
defrauding of a nonprofit profits
and I could tell you
a twelve-year-old. A terrified wallet looks at the grinning billboardThere shall be a bar
(where I will never go)
where coins laugh like the greatest joke
just sent all comedians into the street with an ophidian cup
and a cardboard screaming for something to calm the roar under the bellybuttons.
There might be, who knows,
a bar where proud pockets,
succesful pockets and self-made credit cards,
make the glasses sing and sparkle like a wonderful date,
and one feels inside a commercial,
and the pride of greening checks, how great,
ones that become twos and threes and fives,
makes people focus on the table, 
far from the windows,
far from the cold footsteps 
of those who chew on their classified ads.
The poor girl, always small
and wimpering, scared puppy, 
in your pockets closed watched by five anguished
madmen.
Trickle by trickle, coin by coin,
your month bleeds away
while everybody else widens their evenings
and there are cheers,
and toast
(you only gobbled up some chesse:
Doc says you gotta keep an eye on those colis
having a blast in you :thumb466759035::thumb466328126: the endThe man in the shadows stirs from his rest and leans forward. As his head and arm and hand come into the light, he turns the page in front of me and I play what he reveals. His face remains hidden as he returns to shadow. I've never seen this music before; I've only lived once, and do not know the end. Nor even the beginning. And will not know end or reason until I've lived it all. Being the slippery thing it is, reason has always escaped me. This music is written by a hand that is never seen and may not even ..... be.
Perhaps I write the music in my dreams.
Perhaps not.
And yet I play.
Lancelot Price 2014 July 7 :: Last Day of August 
Pale horses in a field of sun-burnt grass, legs buckling
Falling, grace, succumbing; un-becoming
 
We stood in the harsh August sun, naked and maddened
Red wet flesh glistening, thirst, baked, dreamless
 
Hallelujah and amen, in the distance a choir sings
Lightning cracks sky; hope, wait, plunder
 
Crisp brains search for old dreams of starlit night
When we were young, and not so mad
 
The first drops fall, and we are redeemed; we live
Drinking rain from cupped hands; delight
 
When the storm passes it is night; a billion stars twinkle
We remember why we’re here; deliverance
 
Now we can see the lights of home shining, welcome
Spirit horses fade into darkness; we walk