Beyond golden shoulders

behind her all is nothingbut goldenand through the tipof my nostrilsI can only sense as much.

what it is with her I cannever know
everything simply asecretbehind her shoulder.

behind her all is everythingbut goldenand we can wispthrough colorsand nightslike thunderlike lightningand never knowthe differences thatexistbetween one another.

behind her all is relativebehind her all is retained

behind her all is simplebut complicatedand drowningin the golden burnsof reality.

a haze which doesn'twash offin the rain.

Painting by Christina Steele. Words by Joshua Robert Long.

Impeccable bulbs

is there always light
beyond
the hinges
beyond the beaks
of the cowbird
that rests inside
my weary hands?

maybe if you
want a maybe
out of life

or

maybe not
if you know
how to turn
on
the light.

for me the hope
springs
from chance
situations
and the art
of the revolving
door.

something that
hinges on itself
in a circular motion,
something that doesn't know the
definition of “stop”.

Photo by Dustin Whitehead.  Words by Joshua Long.

Where we're going there are only roads

so he says,
“look at me,” he says,
my legs as light
as the dead beneath
the waves.

the light had shimmied
and explicated
its doctrine
upon him & I was only
standing there taken-a-back.

so he says,
“look at me,” he says,
his arms, as a poignancy,
were less than relative
to the horizon
in which he was sailing to.

“belief is but a dream,” he says.
eyes wide on the line,
the response was open.

the book was closed

and so were his eyes.

Photo by Amanda Grupp. Words by Joshua Robert Long.