every sound is a signal within a system. some systems have meaning. some do not. a signal can be a misdirection, a devilish navigator disrupting and remaking systems with each resonance. some signals resonate to build.
some resonate to destroy.
every signal is burning along its path.
The first kiss,and you as a conductor, your fingers pulling at mine,onto the train and into the night,curving over mountains, through tunnels Steam turning electric,currents passing through me, burning and blindingyour fingers curled in mine,a journey without end
The next kiss,I as your guide, my hands on yours,guiding into woods, through dappled sunlight,among moaning trees, cracking leavesthe scent of life breaking, birthing, burning. The wind that howlsand shakes the leaves,the rain upon the trees -my fingers curled in your hairtime without end.
Time without end.We move through the twilight sky,through noctilucent clouds -swimmers in a sea of early night,ice crystals attaching to our skin, reflecting and becoming stars. Lights in the dark, whorls of stars,sparks flashing between our skin,the galaxy unfolding -our lips together, bodiesa new constellation. Guiding sailors across windswept oceans
Your skin pressed to my lips,aqueous, a riverto seek along, driventossed and turned, your criesa guide, loons moaning along misty shores. I become your riverine captain,my fingers as recon soldiers, probingfinding inlets, egress and admittance -this combat, now mutual,this struggle overwhelms.
You, the screaming gale,pushing turbine blades thatrip and scratchat the arching back of insistent winds.The moaning on the threshold – the shaking of the doors. You rush and swirl,a zephyr gathering power,sirocco full of dusty heat, rage -your eyes a swirling whorl,eternal and consuming.
This kiss, my lips as gardener,feeding heat along a verdant trough,a flickering tool movingin hidden spaces, the private gate discovered.The flowering, once hidden garden, opening. Blooms rising, bursting,from rich, fertile earth,unfurling, rising, seeking heat -a full circle,a frenzied birth.
This shared kiss, then:one body, one mouth,exclamations and proclamations, a tumbling tumult.This shared kiss, shared lips. Shared breath, in and out.Fertilizing verdant land, this Garden. This shaking Earth. Writhing groaning gasping life.The shoots of thickening roots, the stirring dirt.Heated sacrifices at the Tree of Life, the sacred fruit,stirs of frenzied motion, this quickening, this spark…
This kiss, this crying life, and that storywhispered to David, under the hanging gardens -the promise Heloise made to Abelard,the crowning of Ines as Peter wept.Life lost willingly, always a fleeting thing. Time’s lash, barbed fingers drawing blood,the groaning underneath, movement within,this kiss, that story.Time over timebody over body.
This body, your muted cries -a drying river splitting deep woods,a lowering babble over rounded pebbles.The doe lowering her head, finds dry rock,the rasping tongue on unforgiving stone. Grey clouds that give no respite -your neck in memory, fevered dreams -arching back and forth, hair whipping.Your knees bent alongside rising hips,the fading roar of a…
…this perfect kiss. These flowers which rise within the glades, the light bent by branches, the hum of bees and sap. The touch of, the kiss of, sun upon forest floor.
…morning, after morning,sun is burning, banished, clouded,cold in winter, ice wrapped round branches,shielded from spilling seed, numbed:the numbing of heat – kissing me like you mean it,when you don’t – as frost lines our windows, drafts slip underfoot, bodies cooling, motion less certain, a faded blue eye, looking west across fallow fields,broken buildings.
Get new content delivered directly to your inbox.
One thought on “number stations”
Martin your poem so amazing really I feel a touched , it seem your life full of memory 😊