Lying together in the park on Seventh,
our backs smoosh grass and I say
I will love you till I become a child,
when feeding and bathing me is no longer romantic,
but rather necessary.
I will love you till there is no till.
till I die.
And when that electroencephalogram shuts down, baby
that’s when the real lovin’ kicks in.
Forgive me for sounding selfish
but I won’t be able to wait under the earth for you,
(albeit a romantic thought for groundhogs,
gophers and the gooey worms.)
I will not be able to wait for you…
but I will meet up with you
and here’s where you will find me:
get a pen-
Hold your finger up
(two fingers if your hands are frail by now)
and count two stars directly to the left
of the North American moon.
You will find me there.
You will find me darting behind amazing quasars
Behind flirtatious winks
of bright and blasting boom stars!
Sometimes charging so far into space,
the darkness goes blue.
I will be there chasing sound waves
riding them like 2 dollar pony ride horses
that have finally broken free and wild.
I will be facing backwards, lying sideways,
no hands, sidesaddle, sometimes standing
sometimes screaming zip zang zowie!
My God, it’s good to be back in space… Where is everybody?
You will recognize my voice.
You will see the flash of a fire trail
burning off the back of me
burning like a gasoline comet Kerosene Sapphire.
This is my voice.
Don’t look for my body or a ghost.
I’ll resemble more a pilot light than a man now.
I’m sure some will see
this cobalt star white light from earth
and cast me a wish like a wonderbomb.
And I’ll think “Hmmph. people still do that?”
I’m sure I’ll take the light wonderbombs
to the point in the universe
where sound does end.
The back porch of God’s summer home.
It’s so quiet, you float
it feels the way cotton candy tastes.
He let’s me in through the back porch.
St. Peter’s busy in the front
building a catfish pond and swimmin’ hole
for sea-drowned-gray-green souls to enter up from.
I don’t mind his stories
I just get tired of his voice
So you should know what to look for
and exactly where to go…
Take your time and don’t worry about getting lost.
You’ll find me. Up there, a finger and two dots away.
If you’re wondering if I’ll still be able to hold you
…I honestly don’t know
but I do know that I could still fall in love
with the swish of light that comes barreling
and cascading towards me
It will resemble your sweet definite hands.
The universe will bend.
The planets will bow.
And I will say “O, there ya are. I been waitin’ for ya. Now we can go.”
And the two pilot lights go zoooooooom
into the black construction paper night
as somewhere else
two other lovers lie down on their backs and say
“What the hell was that?”
“A finger, two dots, then me” by Derrick C. Brown
inspired by Lizzie, this will be my favourite poem, and forever bonded ot Amy/Eleven in my head.