There are days

There are days when life is cold
no matter the heat outside

days when life is sickening
no matter the taste

days when life is desert-parched
no matter how long you linger at oases

There are days when the music plays
and never once do you feel like dancing;

when the neat pictures on the wall
seem slanted;

when the rain falls and doesn't wash away
the exhaustion
in your eyes

or the copper taste
on your tongue

or the flames
in your skin

or the broken glass case
around your heart;

days when life is crushing
no matter your armor

or the walls you have built in desperation

and you think of surrender

and it seems like you might fall

before sleep flutters forth
on angel-wings

and you fly away
in dreams of
greater things

floating
to another
tomorrow

At night, after the party

As the color fades around my eyes, I stare ahead, hearing the angels' voices sing
on the breeze, on the breeze.

As the water chills in the glass, I pour it down my throat, feeling ice
on my lips, on my lips.

Recalling the fading light and a sea's wind and a fleeting wildness
in my blood, in my blood.

As the music pounded in my ears, in my feet,
in my blood, in my blood.

And the sun escaped below the horizon, red and glistening with pearls
of sweat, pale sweat.

And songs tore from within me, within me
and my feet danced under me, under me
and a turtle's image appeared on my arm

And it was nothing if not everything

Because without the wild
what is there to the world?