8:23 p.m. - 2005-06-30
Desire Rant
Sometimes a desire is just a desire. Sometimes sheer will is not enough. Sometimes paths intersect and continue on into opposite horizons. Sometimes even love is not enough. Or the moon, for that matter. There are times when the substance of make believe shifts like the walls of a sandcastle, with the turning tide. And mermaids, suddenly loosed, scatter senselessly. Sometimes the gaze that penetrates the soul does irreparable violence, though unintentional. It has been known to spoil the essence for future lodgers. Tarnish the silver thread, rendering the web useless bric-a-brac. Sometimes the best of intentions immobilize the dreamer. Crystallize the heart. Leave the soul beautiful and empty as a shell, blanching on the shore. Sometimes a man and a woman simply do not work. A poignant error in the position of orbs. The eerie cry of the gull mid-storm. The lunge of the pelican, that sudden drop that continually startles. Alabaster moon and shooting star. Earth so full of God. Sometimes the need falls of its own weight. Bottom heavy like a rain cloud. Sometimes memory can be traced like the pewter trail of mercury, luminous poison urging surrender. Demanding all. Slight of hand, cosmic and lush. Ebb and flow ecstatic, hermit crab wandering free. Anemone throbbing velvet, beckoning. Irridescent travellers whirling triumphant. Gypsy dwellings, lavishly dark. Lucent fields of sea grass undulating mystic. Sometimes the phosphorous underpinnings of desire reverse the call of angels. Ink black longing. Unrequieted yearning. Capsized on the slick rocks of hope. Balsa porous with salt and promise. Shining desperate for reprieve. Sometimes desire rocks like a crescent in the sky, lullaby moan. Memory has been known to richochet in the hallow night. Stunning the repose of regret. Awakening the terror of resignation. A perfect despair, timeless and complete. Sometimes a man and a woman evoke remorseful stirrings. Pangs of redemption. Bereft even of pain. Sometimes a desire is just a desire. Waning in the space of fulfillment. Sometimes the seams strain against the pull of the waves and even love is not enough. Sometimes.
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