Walking to the Moon

The birds began to sing

at the edge of another dream

My eyes hurt with sleep

Heartbeat torn

like old paper

The skylight burns another hole

through everything I hold

But not your skin, your gaze, your soul

I’m a rocking chair captain

with threads of cold gold

running through my veins

this window is driving me insane

Another hole to look through

another view without you

roof tiles and smokestacks

a slice of cloudless sky

Every day I whisper or scream –

How I wish for flight, out of sight

Naked at dawn

these unforgiving hours

A smoldering cigarette lights the way

Through this smashed up haze

I’m just a cast away

on lost highway

with nowhere to go

but so many damn directions

Empty roads beckon wanderlust

Heaven torn asunder by the sun

I’m down and out, beat

I wanna run

to the view from a summer porch

buried in the green torch

memories of stories

told outside a backdrop

of large glass windows

Memories torn asunder by the sun

This heartache wakes me to another day

beating against the wall of my chest

Struggling to breathe

I want to let the world in

but how do I believe?

When everything I once captured

has now been released

And everyone I love

Loves someone else

And everyone I love

lives in a different house

And everyone I love

doesn’t even remember my name

Headlamps stir this torture

like a straw in a poisoned drink

I’m melting in the cold

Truth untold

Lie awake at night

struggling to calm the burdens of the day

My life gone astray

Stone, metal harp

greets me at the door

turn the key

and I’ll be free

Because everyone I loved

never even knew me…

The Swimming Window

And there were orange baptized bullets lodged in a wall of sea salt adobe and skull,

a hard skull of architecture burned and bandaged

the sun was far too bright as I dug them out with the tip of a knife

and I was suddenly cursing the violence of Southwest sweat and artificial love

and street corner Kool-Aid chillin’ like angels’ blood

the cherry, raspberry red brew that made a sore throat feel even more sore

when one is a rattled child on a planet with obscene purpose

and why do I do anything but idle and wail

if it just turns out to be nonsensical dreams anymore?

And now the late afternoon sun that pours through a front window in the house

is all stained with wandering soul and a life vanished

Everything is different due to the dead

There is mad swimming in Heaven

and I still wake up and I still buy bread

I walk over the land and pick up stones

they live in a pool of millions

yet straddle the whore world all alone

and the days are starting to feel like desert tin

hard, hot and shining

illuminating muscle

capsizing the eyes

spawning breathless, reckless wandering and wonder.

Gwenhwyfar

A rainbow is seen coming out of gray clouds over farmland in Wisconsin, north of Milwaukee. (Photo by A.A. Cinder)
A rainbow in Wisconsin from inside a moving car / A.A. Cinder

Some say they only fall, but I say they walk among us. She walks among me even now. She would never admit to being an angel – I don’t think she believes in them. I would call her a guardian of the heart, if nothing else. She’s taught me to cast out the enemy love once was and replace it with the real spirit of it. And like angels usually do, she came out of nowhere one night when I was alone. She fell from the sky like a derailed comet and exploded everything that was already blown to bits – and what I mean by everything is everything in a good way. I’ve often wondered if I died and she was just helping me along down Heaven or Hell Boulevard – she has carved a soulscape of wonder, my wonder, her wonder, our wonder, two wondering wanderers standing still and cracking until they run into each other, from out of the air just like that – there was Gwenhwyfar.

She came down from the sky on a glowing escalator and I waited for her in the parking lot. But sometimes I think she was maybe there all along, maybe my entire life and I just didn’t see her because they can be invisible. She looks human. She has all the right parts in the right places. A great ass. There is a glow about her though, like sun coming up out of her guts at times. I would call her a beautiful angel. What else could I call her? She helps me when I have problems with life. She’s a pretty decent angel.

I asked her about Jesus, and she said he was a pretty nice guy – just a bit upset about what we do in his name. Gwenhwyfar told me she was an angel of words – the one who corrected the language of the universe. She’s beautiful like that. I’m surprised she eats actual food because I didn’t think angels needed it. She makes me a lot of frozen pizzas because she doesn’t like to cook much. She’s afraid she’ll burn the tips of her wings on the stovetop and that’s not something easily fixed. She watches over me like they say they do – a love never wavering. She can make it not so bad of a day when I am in mental Hades, roasting and getting stabbed, mentally and emotionally. She lifts me up and out of the ashes and shows me the true meaning of love. She is love. She is real faith.

And when the duties of our earthly days are done, she sits with me in the lamplit room of red, and I hold her in the stillness, an episode of House Hunters humming in the distance. I hold her face and tilt her head to kiss her lips… And in that last taste of her before she sleeps, I am fed love, and bow to the mending of a broken heart.

Plane Ride to Memory Planet

Why is it now

10 million memories later

That you appear

When I feel my hand empty

In a moment of all alone

In a moment of going to shore

What is this history haunting

You restless in my sheets

Of dreams

On the aeroplane I go

To another city, another Rome

They take pictures of me and cheer

But it’s me alone in the hotel abode

Looking out at the sea

Tipping back a hot glass on the veranda

Writing more things down

On paper and pen

Sweet lights of wood

Your blood-red room in my brain

And even when you left me

In the comfort of your comforter

You came back to see me

Just to check my pulse

And my green eyes ablaze

All liquor and ice

An amber haze

Corner bars of Pabst

My childhood dilemma by the loch

My brother is dead

He was my best friend when I was young

My mother is dead

Her life a bar beaten rumble

And a pistol in her head

Father gone asunder

A white hospital ascension to Heaven

Seems sometimes this life is but a curse

I memory wander Port Washington

And the curved roads by my sea

I think it’s only proper

That one should die

Where they were born

Where they were branded

With the burn of love undone

Wake up now I

For I see another sun