Not Lost In The New Age
Out of the quagmire at last
Transforming everything into fresh digits
And fractal wonderlands,
Decadently retro, delightfully D. P. W.
No eighties floor show sequins or feathers,
You ease your opinions
Rest eyes on anything beautifully tailored,
Life and love lines plunging,
Go wherever two or three
Necklines are gathered.
You were made for the naughty aughties,
Aquarian-cold nipples in shiny clothes.
I have seen you wearing the fashions
Of terse language, hard factual numbers
While nursing the health of soulful being.
I know you by the quiver of antennae
How you once emerged from a world
Which obliquely reflects our own.
You are the rounded bottoms
In a fountain of mythical nymphs,
Part sea creature, easily captured
By the hazards of the land, the muck
In the too-tall reedy expanses.
You only have to eye the blue band
Above the draw of an aqua pale reef
To reveal the sense of your longing.
You appreciate a hand, however slight
And every slender finger in the mad
Handwritten scrawl of the search, and yet
You compose the quintessential poetry
Of neutered judgment, suspended belief.
Don't hide intensity, or any remaining
Smirk or troublesome quirk of personality.
Whatever triumph your soul strives for
Wherever that yearning takes you I pray
You'll leave a trail and I'll always find you.