In the slow dream of breathing we call life
In loves lost to the labors of living,
We have dared to tear thunder from the skies
And lose our way in its bubbling wake.
Catapulted by convictions, we are
Propelled heart-long into bruising affairs,
And the rosy flush of reason is blurred
By clumsy, pressing swaths of sentiment.
In loves lost to the labors of living,
We have dared to tear thunder from the skies
And lose our way in its bubbling wake.
Catapulted by convictions, we are
Propelled heart-long into bruising affairs,
And the rosy flush of reason is blurred
By clumsy, pressing swaths of sentiment.
In the slow dream of breathing we call life
We fantasize we are somehow finer
Than the passions we can never subdue.
The engorged, ruddy face of our lust
Is the superior force driving us
And its Janus-faced twin, our coming death,
Can never sabotage its poignant grace.
The bittersweet blessings of the body
Are tart on the tongue because they promise
That the softest touch can never dispel
The searing loneliness that marks our lives.
We fantasize we are somehow finer
Than the passions we can never subdue.
The engorged, ruddy face of our lust
Is the superior force driving us
And its Janus-faced twin, our coming death,
Can never sabotage its poignant grace.
The bittersweet blessings of the body
Are tart on the tongue because they promise
That the softest touch can never dispel
The searing loneliness that marks our lives.
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