Tomorrow’s Coming

 Tomorrow’s Coming

 

 

Tomorrow’s always just coming,

takes Present and Past in her stride,

opens one leg, then the other wide,

like two towers that face each other,

bridge decks across spanning curves,

where each must the other serve,

suspended above Her rushing rivers,

tremble in long sympathetic shivers,

fishnet girders that twist in waves,

what one shoots the other saves.

Present’s always Past’s pictures,

ghosting lovers with closed captions

frozen, frigid freeze framed inaction

replays loops of reruns insubstantial,

strained eyes on pause burn glacial.

She could spark brief memories gone,

speak to you of lives gone wrong,

forgotten faces that faintly flash,

morse three dots but She must dash,

our Present soon becomes our Past,

gaped silent mouths call voices vain.

Tomorrow’s coming, a runaway train

steams; thundering through cuttings,

pounds hammer onto anvil blooding,

pistol pistons push pulling, stripping

off weak lace struggles, and ripping

She cannot be denied, burns inside,

douses deep fires that She provides,

must toss and throw across her knee

those shredded garments, stands free

Her calm becomes the storm’s eye,

kneels and swallows gales in cries.

Tomorrow’s kisses are endless known,

they cure the flesh, reset the bone,

looking bold at sadness overthrown,

back where Present’s Past has flown.