What you do to pull me through
the reaction, the positioned postured action
of devolving, evolving spiraling
down to the bottomed out triangulation-
That's your action... Reaction.
Your step by step.
No action... reaction.
Placed just at the right place
with sticky tape stuck with old thoughts
stale air and crusty old hair stuck on your face
to silence the love action that could have come... but ne'er.
You avoid, you slack, you push away and back,
You slur, you stir, you're curt, you cry UNFAIR
To make even the field of team-playing stale, mate
for your own inside-out lack that you stack
the times you hurt -- against me, choke me, against you
all you and all those record times of reaction.
The attack and the smack away of
the new and the good- and them good ol' days-in a new way.
Thats your action. Reaction.
Chokeholds of no air
in a room where pointed fingers stare
into my face -- dare to not breathe -- in and out
While I listen to you shout with no doubt-
loud, as you breathe in a new reaction,
of no action -- with no oxygen even for a crowd
that stuns, stops and stalls and promises
more times of stave offs of the begin agains...
Action. Reaction.
Timekeeper, where are you?
Who has the stop watch that clocks
the match, the game, the mocks?
The words, the labels, the tables
uneven, still... I can't fight.
I'm no rock, nor the cock in the morning light
doodle-doing and only screwing
and fighting, as cocks do...like you.
No, I have a light, an empowered light
turned on by the moonlit sun
that promises new days begun, yet spun
with gifts of golden courageous might
to grow old, up and over-not having to be right, but together as one.
I take the flight up, and out of my life
and whisk up the stairs
to the depth in the deep dark
to the breath of fresh free air
to the pitch of the ebony-toned char nightlight
to be with you, my partner in a midnight kind of love --
and into my mind I play you -- again, on repeat.
You are the song within me, sung into me, sweet --
Your song in me with you -- oooh, my vision
Out of my misery... no longer your mission.
Action. Action up and away
to the promised land of the everyday
And of the hopeless chase,
the illusion of the fusion, again,
that time can't erase, yet one I must face.
I wait. I wish. I wonder
through the slumber
that is at best-unrest -- as my chest
rises and falls to the beat you make
of a heart broken off the wall like
Humpty Dumpty and his great fall.
In the springtime or the fall of my life
waiting for an action of no reaction.
Waiting for actions of utter delight
Given open-handedly, most candidly
in the airy free space of my bed, with room
presented free, embraced by the night
time of action, a-loving reaction action.
Never taken back by the lack of your
inside, your pride, as a continued moral deride.
No more heaves of swallowed tears
Or imaginings of another year.
No more wallows in the chase, the face of fear...
Or fearlessness of soft action, your one-of-a-kind desired suave reaction.
Hope ran dry as I reached out to the colors in your eyes, cold and cool, to leer.
But I heard them calling... I did.
I am free to be, oh so loved.
I am free to love and receive you from above.
I am free to be gently lured into the criss and the cross
of intersected strings of fuzzy, moist, potently wet life-giving earthy moss
that you plant around me, in me and water, with your sweet dripping heart.
I am free to be it all by the fullness of you.
I beg. Still.
My dream?
Go find you, that true blue cool you -- the fullest you.
Stop looking out, to see in.
And give that to me.
One Day. Any Day.
Live to Give. Give to Live.
Act. React. Attract.
Me, in every way.
Act.