Empty Cabins

(harps and pine mandalas)

It was an empty cabin in her mind
interpreting the weight and surrendering the arms these bubbles between us marry us playfully forcing a wishbone stretch, the green mile home and as the world rushes in, I am but a silent century just trying to find the words I misplaced in the scramble... from the ground, to my feet, the air is clear, and innocently sweet so I put it in my pocket some years ago, must've been when I loss control when the scars were tattoos and the tattoos were all scars misaligned memories, another flavor in her diary-bar but it was a place she called home, an empty cabin in her mind

It was a stain on the ivory coffee mug
like a movie waiting to play itself to the beat of her song and these distances between us compromise the integrity forcing a wishbone stretch, another green mile home and as the world rushes in, I am but a silent century a century ago, when I was a younger more patient man, I'd say... strike another ordeal on the docket of a Zen 'to-do' list if you've got time, you try and count the imperfections in the art of how to slip in between just these kinds of moments of how really fleeting are these fleeting components neon struck, a place we call home, a stain on the ivory coffee mug

© David Powers February 27, 2011