The Look

The Look

Words spoken,
actions shown,
the look.
Where are you, sister?
Still a believer?
Keep the homefires burning,
I watch for errant knights.

Repay the debt in kind,
after three weeks it still blows my mind.
The images from that night,
still leave me sad and breathless.

No harm really came of it,
though nothing is the same,
except my heart,
broken like never before.

Start up a new one,
fresh, cold call,
let the words snap up against the wall.
Or down onto the table,
in this Zen bar psychic babel,
it happens, babe.

Don't know where this is going,
could I look at reality,
and understand my paranoia?

I feel fine in this strange new world.
This summer world, I feel the burn.
I might thrive on it, in my own way.

When the clouds are so rapid they bring in a storm,
I admire the slow moving liquid.

Back down onto the highway, here late at night,
not even wondering, just accepting what happens,
it happens, babe.

Events crossed up here and played out,
the timing of these different panics,
what was here or was it over there.

Mystery of the whole sequence,
I have to talk in code again,
a mystery through the dreamscape,
that must be reality.

Florida is burning,
ashes are turning,
and all I can see is fire.

The mornings grey up,
and the nights darken down,
at this stage of it all is smoke,
our kingdom has crumbled into dust.
What am I, locked into this crushed time plane?
Faded love a memory in my brain.
It happens, babe.

-Will Dockery (July 29, 1998)