Saving the world
September 3, 2000
Looking for a cheap thrill,
Settling for a thrill kill,
knocking back shots as fast as you can pour--
but you can't give me what I'm looking for.
I'm waiting for the Big Bang,
but I wonder if I missed it?
Slip into that bedroom voice
and tell me how to fix it.
The world is going straight to Hell
and I'm the one you need,
the one who's got the master plan
and who'll bring you up to speed.
[But I haven't a clue]
what to do when the Devil's outside
and there's nowhere to hide
but inside yourself.
(and I've done quite enough of that already)
So people get ready
to fight this one alone.
The legions under my command
would fair far better by their own hand
than by mine,
because I need a lot of things
and one of them is time.
Time to drink it through and think,
Waiting for the sand to
slip through the hourglass...
I've got no ship to sink but my own.
I don't purport to know
But I am learning
Of a great many things--
Those things I dared
not dream of, I now embrace
the ocean, licking me
with salt-brine kisses...
leaving there the residue
of a thousands worlds I never knew
until now.
And I am taken under
and immersed in the undertow.
I may never emerge,
relishing in the truths that
are so freely given,
soaked through to my skin and under again.
And what is there
is what has always been
--the world--
spirit and light, my soul so far below
the depths, mixing in a humanity
soup for my consumption.
My breath quickens as I feel
you letting go...giving up.
[Giving me up.]
The departure is fierce
and I shudder as you pull away,
turning day
into night
with your cruel withdrawal.
I am left in the sand
looking small
and unwittingly
the victim, though I know
I am not.
Suddenly this grime and grit
is all that I have left of it.
The venom of the ocean
laced with dirty-faced
memories of what has been
now glitters on my skin.
One would think it wouldn't hurt so much,
that I could forget what's happened but I can't.
I can never forget what you've done to me
and how I can never repay you.
You have reached down
into places I never knew of...
found beneath my soul something worthwhile
and took it under your wing.
With a dove's grace you changed me,
pulling strings but not intrusively.
I needed to be moved,
and you did so with humility.
Who knows what you were thinking
when you saw me there, unclothed and unafraid.
Everything was stripped away,
and you revered me...
cupping your hands and holding your treasure like a relic.
It is only right that I do the same for you
but I fear I can't.
You sweep over me
with kisses only whispered,
brushing the tender skin of my neck
with breathy promises--
filling my ears with a symphony
only we can hear.
I pray those notes are mine,
and will return them in time,
but I don't know how to begin.
Your eyes assure me I don't have to.
Shiny threads, slamming against my window,
drumming into my very soul the rhythm
of the ancients--flooding me
with that dark mystery,
though I am not yet wet.
For once I don't turn away.
I don't want higher ground--
burn and stir within me. Do your work.
I am yours and I'm tired of fighting life.
Slipping out of this room is automatic.
The Sirens of the moment are calling me,
nearly muted by the soft summer shower.
[but I still hear them] and I must answer.
I run into your torrent with up-turned face.
Big loopy grins drape over my countenance,
supported by open palms
catching the flood that fills the earth and me.
Silver lines, marking time,
make little beelines for all the dirty spots.
Washing me clean, leaving me in a fever
though your touch is cool.
I am taken back so many years,
taking steps through my past;
taking big-girl steps in my
Winnie the Pooh galoshes.
The smile is the same,
though complimented by tiny creases now.
I loved it even then,
communicating without words--
tapping out Morse code on the soggy ground.
[Do you get the message?]
Back then it was a mud puddle,
and something bad to do, which made it fun.
I am splashing in those big murky pools again,
yet it is far from dirty.
No, this is purity of spirit
--a cleansing of the soul.
I can still dance in your smothering presence
though my galoshes haven't fit in years.
I am the Running Jumping and Standing Still
--I tell you this outright.
There are those who don't believe my claim,
and scatter in the night.
It is ridiculous to say the least.
For I am the Running Jumping and Standing Still,
to know me is to know life.
Stretch out with your soul and trace
the lines of my face.
I'll come to you at once,
and you may begin to live.
To live is to love me,
use me abuse me I want to be exploited.
I am the Running Jumping and Standing Still
[to cause your heart to leap].
Deep in the swimming blackness,
underneath my heart; in that tender place of
shame and imperfection, you might see me...
the real me and not just the action, briefly
before I skitter out of view.
I don't want to be seen, but I'll look at you
with real intent. Devouring not just your beauty
but your ugliness too, clawing out things you
thought you had buried, yet they live.
They wait quietly for the Second Coming
of Running Jumping
and Standing Still.
And I will oblige, in time, but fear not.
I am only what you've lost--
nothing more or less.
I have no temple to dwell in.
I am no stone-faced deity
(but do come and visit me,
just leave your incense at the door).
For I am the Is the Was and the Nevermore.
I am the life you leave in footprints--
as natural as a lazy morning fog
and just as fleeting.
I'm the hippie chick, the freaky trick,
the girl who dances barefoot.
Take me seriously or not,
[but take me while you can]
because I'm all you've got
left of the Movement, the Feeling,
the smoky Rock and Roll--
stay awhile and learn from me
before life takes its toll
on the lower class, the businessmen,
the politicians too. They jing and jangle
all day long but haven't got a clue
where it's at--which is within.
But you can't see that
for you're all too busy,
seeking Mystics and logistics
when it's all right there--slipping around,
dipping down, spinning in the air
around you, which smells like sweet perfume
wafting down the hall and settling in my room.
Who else could rouse me from my sleep?
The essence of your karmic flow
is good enough to eat
--but I'm not hungry now.
I'm seemingly Lysergic but really quite allergic
to this psychedelic brouhaha.
[Can you dig it and are you with me?]
But I'm on the same vibe, you see...
I'm just humming out of tune,
sore fingers strumming in synchronicity
a resonant "Om."
I hear you knocking but no one's home
to get the door. But there is so much more
we could mull over, just you and me
and a pot of tea sitting cross-legged
on a shag carpet.
I'll pour yours and you pour mine,
and we'll each get into one other's cup--
steamy, swirling,
drink me up--my life is thine.
Leave in bed the life you shed
when you walked through my beaded curtain.
Let me hold you, for just a while,
and steal your beauty note by note.
It's electric, eclectic--I find myself in awe.
Give me your love; make me forget
about my pain and insecurity.
Draw out the beauty only you can see.
My hand slides the length
of your neck, slender and strong.
This is beauty, and suddenly
I feel as though I shouldn't be
holding you like this.
I am unworthy but sincere in my intentions.
I let my fingers linger over the surface
before commencing, drawing strength
from within not to devour you fully.
Lift my chin with your poetry...
pull my arm downward, cutting the air;
infusing my body with velvet reverberations.
Make me quiver and quake,
and long after I've put you away,
let the memory of you stay
on my hands, my lips...
tingling on my fingertips.
I feel the phantom weight
of your presence even now.
And what I don't feel, I hear--
ringing sweetly in my ear.
You and I, sipping wine,
nestled in the lamplight of late afternoon--
I've seen you out of the corner of my eye,
seen your face so clearly,
flushed warm by the spirits we ingest.
It's enough to make my soul digress,
had I had one to begin with.
Shadows play
along the lines of your face,
masking your beauty (but not for long).
A flip of the switch and they are gone
yet I am in no hurry.
Let them wade in that shallow pool,
for I know the rest is mine.
I have built walls around walls
but you threaten everything tonight.
The way you hold your glass with infinite care,
looking at me intently with smoky eyes--
the walls are crumbling, one by one.
We laugh and revel,
reaching in the middle
for some fruit and bread--
bathed in the fog of our
own dulled senses;
recompensing infinite woes
we've endured, nullifying secrets
as we're laid upon the slab.
My gift of gab will
most certainly be my undoing
but I care not.
I've sent away my worry,
sent it cringing in the shadows
in favor of you...and this...
drinking wine and losing time
in the vacuum of your eyes.
Up the steps
I make my way,
pushing onward everyday,
to receive the blessings meant for me.
From the top
I draw a breath,
look to the sky, and sing--
the gods have brought me here
thus far, so surely here I'll bring
my lips up to the Blarney Stone.
And oh, how my love shone and
is shining still! I have stories to tell,
[and I will! I will!]
I just cannot reach the stone from here.
So I am going forth
without the kiss,
but never that
my soul will miss,
for I have embraced a destiny
that is mine alone.
And I am walking on--
sprinkling seeds of love
and praying they will grow.
Out of my pocket, covered with lint,
comes that from which my soul was sent--
a curio, a charm,
a jewel encrusted box of humanity.
What lies within is the last of us.
Holding it in my hands, wide-eyed
and wondering,
I ache to open it, but cannot.
I have been warned against such weakness.
For written on its lid
is Pandora's curse--in reverse.
If opened, all the good would flutter
out into the open clutter,
leaving the box empty
and our hope lost.
I cannot live with that,
for my position is an honor--
a true testament.
I am the one who holds the good!
It is mine to nurture or to snuff out,
but I will not do the latter.
People mean too much to me
although we are fragile and fleeting,
seeking all the beauty we can in
the short time we are given.
We are but flowers,
basking in the sun for a few short hours,
marking time with every breath...
until we are crushed beneath the weight of it.
So, no, little box;
I will not dishonor thee...
I will guard your life with mine.
If anything should live, it is you,
so that you may wash the world anew...
someday, when your time has come again.
©Brandi Clark
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