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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476911" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Grave Up Ahead Hasn't Chastened My Longings</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The grave up ahead hasn't chastened my longings, <br>nor joy become an offence to the probity of death.<br>Life's not a protocol I'm trying to master <br>to approach the eternal orthodoxy in good form.<br>It's important to bow up once and awhile to keep <br>your gratitude from growing reflexive. Time <br>might be the shedding serpent that was generated <br>like a wavelength out of my flashbulb of a skull, <br>but I've always kept a good enough grip on its head <br>to feed it its tail with no fear of being bit. Besides, <br>who's ever known from the very beginning <br>whose hour this is for anyone though we blithely assume <br>we're all living co-terminously. The Pre-Cambrian <br>just as it is now existed in the Renaissance<br>or the Middle Ages among the Pre-Raphaelites.<br>Cosimo Medici greets Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br>passing through the bus station, eras striating their minds <br>like glaciers, Viking runes on the back of the mirror. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I analyze my lust sometimes when I think of you. <br>I muse upon time as a fountain and a gutter in the same breath. <br>No waterclock is flowing the wrong way.<br>Winter stars in the heart of the green apple.<br>Crocuses under the snow. Like our senses, eventually <br>I came to understand that all four seasons <br>are wholly focused without distinction on now. <br>And now can burn a hole through your skin <br>the size of a third eye if you're not careful. <br>But as Janis Joplin and Dogen Zenji said <br>seven hundred centuries apart, <br>the lucky day is when you discover it's all one day. <br>And ever since I've been living this moment as if <br>it were the afterlife of forever and even meeting you <br>where the rubber hits the road, the print hits the paper<br>like a graffiti kind of shorthand, seems to me <br>written in the indelible hand of the unscripted evanescence<br>that mingles my mind and heart like blood and ink<br>in the inexhaustible watershed of my art. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dreams of you. Fragrances of emotion <br>from these sidereal wildflowers rooted <br>along the mindstream that gets to where it's going <br>with no hand on the rudder or wind in the sail. <br>Are those daylilies or wild irises in your flames? <br>Deadly nightshade in the umbrage of your eclipse? <br>How many burning bridges did you have to cross <br>in the shape of a crucified swan <br>to get here like the Milky Way without dying? <br>Pandora's box or the Pierian spring of the muses, <br>beatific desire in the fire of the witchcraft of love, <br>or was I born a ghost too late <br>to attend upon you like a seance, <br>to get you humming to my unearthly resonance <br>like the witch hazel of a tuning fork <br>divining water that breaks <br>its vow of silence on the moon<br>to reveal the secret of life is a woman's body <br>when she reveals it like a sacred syllable <br>to open your eyes down to the blood roots of her rose? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I taste the air, and I can sense the enormous vulnerability<br>that is the inversely proportional index <br>of how potentially dangerous you are to anyone <br>who hangs their heart like raw meat<br>on the first and last crescents of your claws <br>like a sacrifice to ensure an abounding harvest, <br>like a lure to a mermaid that's never been caught. <br>Who could take hold of you like the moon by the earth? <br> <br>The golden fish that swims from one extreme to the other, <br>depending on where it's being looked for, <br>jumps into the drifting lifeboat by itself<br>the same way apples fall into your lap <br>with no intention on the part of the wind <br>to knock them down. Whenever I intuit your presence <br>as if a room just walked into a person, <br>you're always such a windfall <br>stampeding through my gut <br>like mass amorous extinctions making a comeback. <br>Neuronic lightning flashes along my axons <br>like the discharge of a high voltage cloud of unknowing<br>illuminating the black mirror of the midnight lake <br>that sees everything through its third eye like a sky <br>whispering stars intriguing enough to make you <br>want to overhear their voices like fireflies of insight<br>that can't be attributed to any sign of the zodiac. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And as far as I can tell from what I've heard so far <br>you could be the proto-nostratic grammar <br>of a new mother tongue with the grassroots vocabulary of a star<br>I have to leave more space in my heart than my eyes <br>to reach out and touch as if even my ashes <br>were still the green initiate of these immolations <br>where the mystery burns like a dragon in love <br>to prove its heretical innocence, and everything <br>is only as sacred as its taboo is revealingly dangerous.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476911" data-title="The Grave Up Ahead Hasn't Chastened My Longings de Patrick White" data-description="The grave up ahead hasn't chastened my longings, 
nor joy become an offence to the probity of death.
Life's not a protocol I'm trying to master 
to approach the eternal orthodoxy in good form.
It's important to bow up once and awhile to keep 
your..."></div>
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