Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

This is a "poetic conversation" written by me and LR. I wrote the pieces signed as "dp" .... he wrote the pieces signed as "LR" - well, that was probably obvious. We wrote this in Sept of 2003. Thanks for reading.


-----------

Believe Me

I live in fright and faith
Aghast and amazed
Dust on my hands, cynical
Elliptic, distinct in motion

The evening has a smell
Tobacco and the bottoms of
Chess pieces fresh from a case.
Carbon and marijuana licked
Bold and enchanted like musk.

Faith has a smell too
Like the smell of small children
The future is not a possibility, forlorn

My tone is wide open
To your faith and your smell.

-LR

--------------------

we stand on edges, lines,
heading for the parade,
paths laid by previous
fade ins, fades outs --
you, in your casual
cordial suit, cavanaugh hat --
me, without
credentials like that,
measuring second hand countdowns,
believing scents from exotic food stands
lined up on and off pavement,
adjusting lenses to capture
confetti, baton twirls, girls on floats
waving like cartoons, bright white painted
teeth meeting ruby red
lips slipped on
and the parade comes,
yes, the parade comes
up and down the street,
sweet sense of being there,
sweet scents of
belief!

-dp


=================
You are tactile and resilient as water
I am theoretical as fire and ohms
Your ass is a musical thing, a bell
That rings like flesh forgiving.

You were born to light my cigarette
And show me how to believe
Even in the brittle morning
Fugitives from our night’s dreams.

Doubt is my breath made crimson
In shadow and relief, magnified
Perspective of the cynic that I am
Rascal in supplication for your belief.

lr
---------------------

Oh! when you weave me, believe me,
seize me, breathe me whole, stolen hours, showered
stars, cold winter snow shoveled far from orbits, mars
outweighed by gravity, the traverse of doubt played out
in exacts, facts chief in belief -- me,
the viability, pianissimo, notated,
paraded on paper scales, touch tone
enhanced, a dance of keys, never failed,
not given up - Fugitive doubt, a cynic stout, lanky,
astute, frank, blank check signed.

you must believe you, you
the blind, fine find reaching,
teaching sines, cosines, multiplications,
math, so you can believe,
so you can believe, me
down on my knees taking
in brilliance, resilient
like leaves.

sometimes leaves believe, me
an acknowledger of standards
played repeatedly, classic
history, mystery,
future.

rustic supplication,
must musk dusk
invitation,
rusted damn
elation

but Oh! when you weave me, believe me,
seize me, seethe me, breathe me, know me,
see me, see me, feel me, hear me, touch
the lust of believe me repeatedly covered,
operas rocked, hovered over through
for to

i believe
i want to

-dp

-----------


Is faith the residue of doubt?
Show me a cynic and I’ll show you
A bruised idealist.

We can believe in myths or
Science or we can believe in
Ourselves.

The testimony of your eyes
The unflinching view
The evidence of sight
The sensitivity to light.


-lr
-----------------------
of course we can tell when light reveals truth,
youth recorded in diaries, journals born to bear
our fair share of guilt, wisdom, ifs, testiments,
flinching evidence of human residue,
tested bio-chemically.

warfare is a dare to peace.
i have faith in weak knees and wonder,
thunder showers, scents of abundant
hours compacted into one,
blunt sharp sight overcome
by vision.

tomorrow, we can make a revision,
edit myths as we see fit, become sensitive
to science, place bets on reaction,
create traction with paragraghs, indents,
resentful squalor, foul -

howl adversities at a crescent moon,
full too soon the coming of morning;
awakened journey,
awakened journey.

we are forming a base
to face the dawn, concrete,
a structure to be built upon
with two-by-fours,
framed to carry walls
and windows.

hit me on the head with one.
it might knock me out.

idealism is a catalyst for dreams.
without it, all there are
are seems and nevers,
might have beens,
endeavors of
waste.

this is a moot case.
the testimony is dismissed.
why wake up and walk
when catalysts are kissed
goodbye by
talk?

look me in the eye.
this is a miracle.
lame blamed woman tossed out, pout eyes
crying doubt, without hope, without hope,
with empty skin, bled veins, vacant
pupils.

teach me.
reach me.
beseech me.
believe me.

when i see infinite starshine painting
patterns on the color of your eyes,
i become wise, rich. i believe every
twitch of skin beneath below lashes.

belief is a newborn lying calm,
alms paid, yawning relevations, solemn,
fruitful, sprung like when summer has
begun, the frigid winter before not much more
than arctic death. belief is breath seen on air,
twenty below a dare of zero.

-dp


-----------------

What good are knees unless they are bent?
What are we to do? Rejoice; lament?
Our journals are full of regret, confession
The residue of stars in grand progression

My myth needs no revision, no new verses
My knees are bent; my heart disperses
The scent of wonder from open dors
There is no god; there are no two-by-fours.

The chemical reaction is a look in your eye
A baby groans and rolls over in her crib
She tries and stumbles and vomits on her bib
And kisses her revelations; her imagination flies.

You blink and a thousand babies are born
The painting becomes stippled and spitting thorns
Belief is wet and faith is dry; doubt is low and hope is high.
I’m awaiting your reply.


-lr

---------------------but did i help you believe yet?
did i make you know? laps aren't laps
without the bending of knees though
we need to sit down, hold our knees
to our chest, try for rest, try for rest, peace
but we cannot pray
unless thighs are
ninety degrees to earth.

birth's a righteous memory.
stones are cast
into sees and last wills
and testimonies
witness
burial grounds
hovered by scavenger
birds.

words are just words are just words,
spoken, whispered, twisted, misconstrued,
understood, recognized, revised, sized up,
admitted, resisted.

laps lead to lapses of memorization,
six sides on the dice lead to a round of tosses,
craps worms its way into belief,
an unmasked thief, seizing opportunity
with gamble.

oh but did i make you believe yet? did my ramble
help? did you hear the song i finished? do you
remember the lyrics, the melody? do you mind
if i take the time to find my belief soft moving
musically on your back your back your neck
your hair your ears hear me whisper clear hear
your voice makes music, birth's a righteous memory,
stones are cast, laps aren't laps without the bending
of needs, try for rest, please, peace hovered like
a scavenger, admitted, twisted, helped, six sides
diced, led in and around tosses, seized losses
gambled, masked theives trampled with
witnessed testimony
buried under
words.

did i help you believe yet?
no? how absurd.

-dp
--------------------------

and when you pray,
your bended knee
on earth, the soil
of piety, the brevity
of long enough,
rough bloody stuff of grief,
belief then grown --
breathe hallowed
truths which dare the
ruddy pinch of queen's afford
and wear her stated stance
upon the board,
regal on a throne.
ease your knees
to bow to how
we never are
alone.


-dp

There are many felicities here, and little slack.

" . . . laps aren't laps without the bending of knees" nicely freezes in motion the lovers' need for compromise to keep the fires banked high. I like measuring love by apothegm, ( and try to do it in my own verse) and this line and image does it neatly, elegantly.

Flint against steel here, and plenty of linguistic play animating the whole.

Thanks for the glimpse at this dialogue, you two.


Zlatko

Thanks, Z
am I the flint or the steel?



note on two-by-four reference:

Several years ago in the neighborhood
there was an old man (80?) who walked by my house every day
it was winter and he wore a pork-pie hat and an overcoat.

One day I was walking to the store and I fell in step with him and we began talking. We passed a site where they were building some new condos. The old guy looked over at the site, which was in the framing stage, and said, "There's the trouble. There aint no more real two-by-fours."

This is true because what they call a two-by-four these days only measures 1-3/4 by 3-1/2

it's kinda like the mystery of the shrinking almond joy

'There ain't no more two-by-fours."

"rascal in supplication for your belief"...

amazing, unforgettable line.

"believing scents from exotic food stands"

another amazing unforgettable line.

amid many more.
really enjoyed this, a veritable treat.

H

I think I'm gonna print it out and take it to the hot tub.............

A visual and mental feast........enjoyed the write very much, so many great lines~

rezErection

*BRAVO*

a pleasure to read, thank you both.

~westcoast

I love your dialogues!!!!!!!!. I don´t remember exactly this one from before. Thanks for sharing again!!!!!!!!