Wishing Well

Wishing Well

Saturday night begat Sunday fire,
the morning bloodroses in the clouds
each one the chariot of an angry pagan god
chased out by one true passion.

This sunrise is only a decoration
unlike the one before
which may have meant life or death
--we've all woke up dead
in time for the fire to burn
it's mark of one more day alive.

this one sunrise is for your eyes only,
enchanted and drunken as they are
by love's
shot glass whiskey barfloor dance.

The sun sets us to burn.

The floors are on fire--
we are drunken well-wishers
casting pennies into darkness

you threw them for luck--

I threw them
for one endless weekend

Sundayrise tells us to try again
very soon


Written By Eric Bachman

Nightbirds

Past the dwindling twilight thread;
Flesh rose-tones and a hint of petculli
the only things that matter
are in very good hands,
or are covered by darkness
from the rest

Some find it easy to fly
by day, but some only sore
at night when the stars talk
about ancient stories still
lived out on the earth today;
Hydras and Dragons, the dogs run
everywhere.
Hunter and the Queen
impossibly meet because
at night they are alive,
above and below the stares

Nightbirds sing to bring the dawn back
We sing for the same reasons
Nightbirds fly seeking the safety of shadow
But we fly for the same reasons we sing,
shadows being only another layer
to shed, stories that peel away
cast on the floor,
like the anticipation of each new sunrise
an event foreshadowed
by so many love songs
heard whispered in the dark

Written by Eric Bachman

Under Tree Shade

...did clink
that back door
out toward the walnut treeshade
running to the tire swing
we
swung so low I filled heaven
in a mugfull of your soul
and drank until
the day came
to tulips in rain
till that swing swung
only to winter's breeze
blowing our summer to clouds
the storm and the years
dropped by like the hard fruit
of the tree that we owned
-
Like that, you were gone
the summer gone
house gone
the tire's gone
the tree's cut
and a lazy red new house
sits splayed for it's new owners
young drinkers of tulip rain
and honey
but no old tire
no swing shade
no summer with grace
no time, no trust or season
to let go of the door
to run
to let go weak reason
and...

Written By Eric Bachman

Changing Silence

The world is a beautiful place.
do document the changes
the patterns, moods
flavors and smells
the atmosphere
provided by
mother
earth
god

But it hurts
in the morning
if you would know

At least
the stars say this secret—
for she is silent as we speak

Written By Eric Bachman