Copyright © 2009 Ernest Bloom.
For love and honey, honesty, compassion,
We make this trip, passing down miles become
Lightyears, past tears of exuberance in
Each other's eyes and battle cries spilling
From faded decades into our ears. We touch
Fingertips to fingertips, fingerprints
To fingerprints, we can't push on any further,
Further. We are temporarily segregated
Consciousness enfolded within fleshy
Envelopes looking for warmth for a little while
Before we hear Mother's voice calling us
Back home.
Hey there. Long time, no comment. I like how this whole thing is about playing before dinner. Or at least that's how I took it. Very cool. And I especially liked "fingerprints to fingerprints." Just something different, and I appreciated it. :)
ReplyDeleteThe inevitable physicality of human experience, the longing for interaction which is hurdled by our being segregated in the flesh- you've portrayed this very well. The fingerprints to fingerprints was especially emotional, tender and warmly physical. I notice how you keep describing those moments of empathy as a sort of brief trip, soon interrupted by the motherly voice's call to the bleak and cold reality. I really do hope that some day the kind of experience you envisage in your works can be extended over an indefinite amount of time. It is a dream worth fighting for.
ReplyDeletei don't think, signore louis, i'm envisaging; more like peering backwards thru a round door that's sphincterizing into a shrinking hole. uh mother earth, meybe.
ReplyDelete"We touch fingertips to fingertips, fingerprints
ReplyDeleteto fingerprints, we can't push on any further." WOW. I'm speechless again. I love the gentle intimacy that's present here - something as simple as touching fingers together suddenly becomes something that is very sacred and profound. :D