two a.m. and i awaken
the bed is a parachute
it eases the fall
into my waiting flesh
legs twitch
and i wake up remembering
my jaunt through space
it felt so real
the fear/the rush
through constellations
i light a cigarette/
open the door
to inhale the night
and my door opens
to an unfamiliar sky
of crystal pyrotechnics
this razzle/dazzles me
and i squint at this display
gasping for air
in an atmosphere alien
to my lungs
my stoop leads to nowhere
and i see a satellite
whiz by my blurring view
i hear the beep beeping
signal of its orbit
i must get back into the house/
lie back in bed/
direct my dream
to old familiar places
where toxic waste/pollution
and ozone in the air
await my hungry lungs
©1988 by Carmen M. Pursifull.
All Rights Reserved.
eight p.m. tryst with a full moon
the appointment has been made
approved/but as of yet
not consummated
the invitation has ignited
slow burning coals
in the depths of his eyes
when he looks at me
but we must fight
the nature of our rhythms
he is a sun riser
while i am kin to diana
hunting ideas to moon phases
but when the moon is full
strange powers pull my spouse
and me to harmonize our music
to a sensual steady beat
his charm slithers and we begin
the ritual of cleansing
the mind of daily residue
we are our focused senses
as we adorn ourselves
with peacock colored silks/
soft creams and ripened musk
fingers barely trace skin lines/
raise flesh tremors/jerk limbs
and a delicate spit gathers
at the corner of a mouth
he is a sweet meat to savor slowly/
to raise tides
bringing to a halt the tenth wave
soak my dear/don't move/
stay on the crest for one more
excruciating cycle of the earth
© 1988 by Carmen M. Pursifull
All Rights Reserved.
four a.m. how time flies
mama
i see you in each hand of time
and now papa has been seen
by your side/urging
my grieving son in law
to acknowledge his transition
so soon the call
from my daughter's side/
so sudden stopped the drummer's beat
mama
can you tell me if you see
my baby's hand reach for the hand
of my son's son
who left his mother's womb
before his time
does my baby play or does he wait
for my arrival to tender to him
in this reflective night
i try to crack the cosmic egg/
fly from culture's imprintations
i try to seek the soul
that whispers in my dreams
of other worlds which wait
for that moment when breath
shall fly like a last wind
from my lungs
will i habitate these worlds
for a universal blink
repeating over and over
the ritual of transition
for the evolution of my soul
© 1988 by Carmen M. Pursifull.
All Rights Reserved.
midnight and the clock strikes thirteen
i hear the thirteen strikes
from the clock/
look at the mantle
for an explanation
but the face is empty
except for hands too busy
to define myths
to a logical mind
at midnight
the house exhales
its daylight heat
hidden in its wooden pores
and i detect a movement slight
as if the walls
would close upon me/
shelter me
from psychic harm
against my unbelieving will
i see the outline
blur of matter
manifest a lilac cloud
it circles my waist/
wraps me in a spirit womb
where i do not exist
until the sun shines
© 1988 by Carmen M. Pursifull
All Rights Reserved.
