Where I Traveled With Night

I travel only in the night
her bosom wrapped around me
her tongue in my mouth
her hand down my pants
her arms pulling me close

yet i still am able to turn away
from the reality of this journey

into further darkness
further intrigue
further mystery
the more i learn
history

endless faces of certainty
not in their words of eternity
fresh on the feeble lips rips
holes in my mental

dysfunctional
hypnotic
repetitious
liberal in instruction

mindful of this limited space
a place in the jungles makes the case
behind another ancient vase
it is silhouetted
with a glowing from a far
as the ghosts are congregating as
the shores are receding
purely
twisted seaweeds and reeds
from long forgotten man made ponds
the frond of the palm is yellowed
decayed
and crumbled under my pillow
waiting

for them to grow again and be alive
with the aid of my synthetic dreams
ghosts moaning in ecstasy
swimming out to shipwrecks

they who wear no clothes

they who are not ashamed

they who are photographs on the mantel

they who are steaming shirts against an iron

they who are sitting at their mohogany desks
dipping their ink in the seabed
their tan quills frayed, betrayed
by their own writer's block

and what of these diaries?
what are my gifts to the next generation
to ruminate on?

lost in a sea of information
lost in its constant turnover
a rover gone off to Mars?
will they carry these soundbytes
stapled as fingerprints
to more wires, more ceramic conductors

will the next archaeologists
simply use a search engine into
the soul?

where am i, oh night?
why are you taking me into your bed?
where am i off to?

where do we travel in these days of
explosive evolution?

will they find me here?
will they remember our unholy union?